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LOVEDAY’S HISTORY 


A TALE OF MANY CHANGES. 



LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY 

Author of “The Foster-Sisters,” “Lady Betty’s Gov- 
erness,” “Winifred, or After Many Days,” Etc. 



NEW YORK ( 
THOMAS WHITTAKER 
2 & 3 Bible House 
1885 


7-Z-3 

,Gr1^ L 


Copyright 1884, 

By THOMAS WHITTAKER. 


i 


PRESS OF W. L. MERSHON & CO., 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


This book is affectionately dedicated to 


“ Sister Dolley. 



CONTENTS 


Chap. I. 

The Beginning, - 

- 

II. 

More Bemembrances, - 

- 

III. 

Another Change, - 

- 

IV. 

A New Life, - 

- 

Y. 

The Thunder Strikes, 

- 

YI. 

The Lightning Strikes Again, 

- 

VII. 

Old Friends and New, - 

- 

vm. 

Her Grace’s Gentlewoman, 

- 

IX. 

Her Grace, - 

- 

X. 

At the Great House, - 

- 

XI. 

The Duke’s Ring, - 

- 

XII. 

The Old Hall, - 

- 

XIII. 

Exiled, and Yet at Home, 

- 

XIY. 

Another Home, - 

- 

XV. 

Coombe Ashton, - 

- 

XVI. 

The Great Storm, - 

- 

XVII. 

The Wanderers, - 

t 

XVIII. 

The Last, ----- 

- 


1 

18 

29 

61 

84 

106 

136 

165 

183 

218 

242 

260 

278 

293 

308 

320 

338 

360 




PREFACE. 


It has been my aim in this book to illustrate and 
make real to my readers the great and wonderful 
change which passed over England between the year 
1538 and the reign of Elizabeth. How far I have 
succeeded such readers must judge for themselves. 
It was a time of great trial and suffering for both 
parties — not least for those who saw sacred shrines 
broken up and sold for old gold and silver, and the 
relics which they had been accustomed to adore, 
treated with all sorts of indignities. It should al- 
ways be remembered that the same Bishop Gardener 
who so distinguished himself by his zeal in Queen 
Mary’s reign was the very same who was King 
Henry’s right hand man in the work of destroying 
convents, and that it was Cardinal Wolsey himself 
who first set the example. But Wolsey, with all his 
faults, was not so bad a man as Gardener, because he 
was no hypocrite. The story of the adventures and 
wanderings of the Duchess of Suffolk with her second 
husband, Mr. Bertie, is literally true. 


L. E. G. 







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INTRODUCTION. 


I have amused the hours of a somewhat tedious 
confinement with a sorely wrenched knee joint in 
writing down for my children some of the adventures 
of my youth. May they never forget to he grateful 
for the peace and freedom they now enjoy — especially 
for the liberty to hear and read the Gospel. 

LOYEDAY CORBET. 


I found this book many years ago while superin- 
tending some improvements in the old vicarage of 
Coombe Ashton. The manuscript was fairly dropping 
to pieces with age, but I have made shift to read and 
copy it. 










, 

- 











































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• • ,1 








S I 











LOVEDAY’S HISTOEY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BEGINNING, 

SHALL never forget that beginning. It was 
like the lightning flash, which always comes 
suddenly, albeit one may have seen the 
clouds gathering for hours, and even have heard dis- 
tant growls and mutterings of thunder. Of such 
growls and mutterings there had indeed been a plenty 
when I was quite a little maid, living with my kins- 
woman, Lady Peckham, in Somersetshire. I remem- 
ber well my lady’s wrath and consternation at hear- 
ing that my Lord Cardinal had put down some thirty 
or more of the small religious houses, especially con- 
vents of nuns, and had confiscated their revenues to 
the endowment of his grand college foundation at 
Oxford. There was no talk of pensions and suste- 
nance for old or young. The poor souls were turned 
adrift to shift as best they might. If my Lord 
Cardinal were alive to see the havoc that hath been 
made since, he might bethink himself (if he ever 
happened to hear it) of a certain pithy proverb 



Loveday's History. 


2 

about showing the cat the way to the cream. The 
cat hath lapped the cream pretty clean in these days. 

I had a personal interest in that same measure of 
my Lord Cardinal, seeing I was myself destined for 
one of those very convents, a small, but reputable 
house of Gray Nuns, not far from Bridgewater. I 
was the daughter of a kinsman of my Lady Peckham’s 
first husband, and being left an orphan of tender 
years and wholly without provision, my lady char- 
itably took me into her protection and care, and gave 
me a home, intending to bring me up till such age as 
I should be fit to make a profession. But the convent 
was suppressed, as I have said, and so that cake was 
dough. The sisters — there were not more than eight- 
een or twenty in all — found places where they could. 
Some went to their friends, some to other houses of 
the same order. One went to live in the family of a 
master baker in Bridgewater, where she afterward 
married. I saw her not long since, a fine stately old 
dame, and a great blessing to her own family as well 
as to the poor of the town. One — Sister Benedict — 
came to stay with my lady till she could find suitable 
convoy to another house of Bernardines not far from 
London. 

I don’t think that in her secret heart my lady was 
very sorry to have an excuse for keeping me with her 
a while longer. I had grown a handy little maid, 
tall of my age, and having no daughters of her own, it 
was but natural she should take to me, especially as I 
was very fond of her. I liked nothing better than to 
follow her around like a little dog, carrying her basket 
or her keys, and running with good will to do her 
errands about the house and garden. I believe I 


The Beginning . 


3 


might have done the same as long as I lived, only for 
Sister Benedict, who came to stay with us, as I said, 
and who must needs put her finger in the pie. My 
lady had a son by her first marriage — Walter Corbet 
by name — who was destined by his mother for holy 
orders. He was several years older than I, and we 
were great friends, as was but natural. He helped 
me in my lessons, specially in my Latin, which I 
learned with him of Sir John Watson, our kind old 
parish priest and domestic chaplain, and fought my 
battles and those of my pet cats against Randall 
Peckham who, though not a bad lad in the main, was 
rather too fond of teasing. Poor Randall was sent to 
Oxford, where he went altogether to the bad, ran 
away leaving more than a hundred pounds of debt 
behind him, and (so we heard) was cast away on a 
ship going to Holland. He was his mother’s pride 
and darling, and her heart was almost broken. I have 
always believed, ever since I was old enough to think 
about the matter, that Sister Benedict persuaded my 
lady that her holding back Walter and myself from 
that service to which we had been promised had 
brought this judgment upon her. Walter declared 
that-, though he might consent to be a parish priest, 
he would never be a monk, and he was one not easy 
to be moved when once his mind was made up, 
though he never stuck out about trifles — not like 
poor Randall, who could be coaxed or flattered out of 
any principles he ever had* while he would be ob- 
stinate even to folly about the trimming of a glove, 
or the management of a hawk. So my lady was fain 
to compromise the matter, and Walter was sent to 
Bridgewater to study with Sir Richard Lambert, 


4 


Loveday's History . 


a very learned priest with a great reputation 
for sanctity. (Of course I did not know all this 
at the time, being but a child.) I was sent away 
with Sister Benedict, to go to my father’s brother, a 
rich merchant in London, trading to the Low Coun- 
tries. That was the story. Sir Edward had all along 
been opposed to bestowing me in a convent, and 
after the suppression of the (Jray Nuns’ house, he 
had spoken his mind freely to my lady, saying that 
he would not have me disposed of in that way with- 
out my own consent, and that no more should be said 
about the matter till I was of age to judge for my- 
self. My lady seemed to acquiesce, as indeed she 
always did on the rare occasions when Sir Edward 
asserted his will, and I suppose she might really be 
glad of the excuse to keep me at home, for, as I 
have said, she liked to have me about her. But 
Sir Edward went away, being sent to Scotland on 
public business by the King, and Sister Benedict 
came, and the upshot of the matter was, that I was 
sent to London to see my uncle and little cousins. 
As soon as Sister Benedict could make proper arrange- 
ments, I was to be transferred to the convent of 
Bernardines at Dartford, a very rich and reputable 
house. I don’t think it was meant that I should 
know this, but my lady’s woman let the cat out of 
the bag, and my lady, finding I knew so much, told 
me the rest herself — so I knew what to look for. 

The journey to London was longer and harder then 
than now, and very dangerous withal. But my Lord 
Abbot of Glastonbury, who was Sister Benedict’s un- 
cle, was going up to town with a great following, and 
we traveled in his train ; so we escaped the dangers 


5 


The Beginning. 

of the road, and met with far more consideration 
than we should otherwise have done. Nevertheless, 
I remember that Sister Benedict was highly indignant 
at certain instances of disrespect shown to her uncle 
by the gentry and others whom we met, and mourned 
over the degeneracy of the times. The truth was, 
the thunder-cloud was even then lying low in the sky, 
and men felt its influence as dumb creatures do that 
of a natural storm before it comes. 

Well, we reached London at last, and glad was I 
when our journey was done, though sorry to part 
with Sister Benedict, who, her point once gained, 
was very kind to me. However, I had so much to 
engage my attention that I did not feel the parting so 
deeply as might perhaps have been expected. - 

Mine uncle lived in Portsoken ward, in a very fine 
house built by his grandfather, but greatly enlarged 
and embellished by his father and himself. It had a 
large court-yard, and a garden at the back, wherein 
were some huge apple trees and a great standard pear 
tree, besides others for shade and beauty. All the 
Corbets are fond of gardening, and my Uncle Gabriel 
was no exception to the rule. At that time (and I 
suppose the same is true now) the great merchants of 
London lived very handsomely, and enjoyed many 
luxuries which had not been so much as heard of in 
our remote corner of the world. I was met at the 
door by a most lovely old lady, who kissed me on 
both cheeks, and informed me that she was my great- 
aunt, my Grandfather Corbet’s sister. 

“ And so you are poor Richard’s child ! I remem- 
ber him well, a little lad no bigger than you, if as big. 
You don’t favor him greatly, and yet there is a Cor* 


6 Loveday's History . 

bet look about you, too. What was your mother's 
name ? ” 

I managed to say that it was Loveday Carey. 

“ Yes, yes, I remember. And how old are you? 
But never mind now. You must need refreshment 
after your long journey, but I suppose you have not 
come very far to-day.” 

She led me by the hand toward the foot of a grand 
staircase, far finer than that at Peckham Hall ; but as 
we reached it I started back in utter dismay from 
what I conceived to be no less than the devil himself 
— namely, the figure of a man black as ebony, and 
rather fantastically dressed, who stood bowing and 
showing his white teeth in a manner which seemed to 
me to warrant the conclusion that I was instantly to 
be devoured. I clung to my aunt’s arm, and uttered, 
I suppose, some exclamation of dismay. My terror 
seemed greatly to amuse the creature, which now 
giggled outright. 

“ What is it ? ” said my aunt, as I let go of her hand 
and retreated behind her. 

“ The black man ! ” I faltered. 

“ Oh, poor Sambo ? I suppose you never saw a 
blackamoor before. But don’t be frightened, child. 
He is a human creature like ourselves, and hath a 
kind heart, and is a good Christian, too; are you not, 
Sambo ? ” 

Whereupon the negro made the sign of the cross, 
and showed me a crucifix which hung about his neck. 

“ You will soon learn to like him as well as our 
children do,” said my aunt. “ Go, Sambo, and bring 
up the young lady’s mails.” 

Sambo grinned again wider than ever, and betook 


7 


The Beginning . 

himself to the side-door, where an attendant of my 
Lord Abbot’s was waiting with my baggage. 

Thus reassured, I ventured to pass him, and fol- 
lowed my aunt up the stairs into the very finest room 
I had ever seen. My uncle’s house is built with the 
upper stories projecting over the lower. I always had 
a fancy that it was leaning over to look down the 
street. There was a great oriel window, with many 
panes of stained glass, which formed a deep recess. 
On the floor of this recess lay a beautiful carpet, 
such an one as I had never seen before. I could not 
conceive how such a beautiful fabric chanced to be in 
such a situation, for the two or three Turkey rugs we 
possessed at Peckham house were used as coverings 
for tables and beds. A great East country cabinet 
stood in this recess, and before it a carved arm-chair. 
The walls of the room were hung with Spanish leather 
most curiously wrought with gold and silver figures ; 
the furniture was partly of damask and partly of 
Cordovan leather. At the other end of the apart- 
ment was a second large window looking upon the 
street, as the first did upon the garden. Here stood a 
low chair, and a basket piled up with homely house- 
hold work. 

“ This is my place ! ” said Aunt Joyce — so she bade 
me call her. “ And now I will call your cousins to 
take you to your own room, where you will find your 
mails, and they will help you to change your travel- 
ing dress, that you may be neat when my nephew 
comes home to dinner at eleven. We all dine 
together, though I doubt such late hours are not very 
good for the health of the young ones. When I was 
young I never dined later than nine o’clock, nor 


8 


Loveday's History . 

thought of sitting at table with my parents. But 
times are changed — times are changed — and my 
nephew hath a right to command in his own house.” 

I began to wonder when she was going to stop 
talking long enough to call my cousins, but at last 
she blew her silver whistle, which hung with her keys 
at her girdle, and presently two pretty little girls, 
some years older than myself, made their appearance, 
and were introduced to me as my cousins, Avice and 
Katherine. They were twins, and more alike than 
any two people I ever saw. They were wonderfully 
fair, with thick, soft, curling hair of the color of new 
flax, or a thought yellower ; clear, transparent gray 
eyes, and a lovely bloom on their cheeks. I fell in 
love with them on the instant. They only courtesied 
when presented to me, and, giving me each a hand, 
led me away. 

As we passed a great Venice glass, I remember 
being struck with the difference in our looks, for I 
was ever a true Corbet, with the great dark eyes, level 
black brows, and crisp hair of my race — a regular 
black Corby, as poor Randall used to call me. 

The twins led me up the staircase and into a room 
furnished with blue, where were two little beds and a 
truckle for a servant. Out of this opened a large 
light closet, where I found my mails. As soon as we 
were alone, the girls found their tongues. 

“We are glad you have come to live with us ! ” 
said Avice, who was always the first speaker, and 
indeed took the lead in every thing, as I found out 
afterward. 

“Yes, we are very glad, because it will be like 
having our sister again ! ” said Katherine. 


The Beginning . 


9 


“ A little like it ! ” said Avice, and then, seeming to 
feel she had hurt my feelings, she added — 

“ You know nobody can be quite like one’s own 
sister, but I am sure we shall love you, Cousin 
Loveday ! ” 

“ And I am sure I shall love you ! ” I returned 
warmly, and then I ventured to ask : “ Did you 
have another sister, and is she dead ? ” 

“Yes!” said Avice, with a quivering lip. “She 
was a beautiful little girl, and she looked a little like 
you, for she had dark hair and eyes. But she fell 
into the chincough, and then into a long waste, and 
died in spite of all that could be done.” 

“ But she has gone to paradise — I am sure she has, 
and we shall see her again some day,” added Kather- 
ine, her eyes shining with a kind of steadfast light. 
“ I could not bear it, only for thinking of that.” 

There was a little silence, and then Avice asked me 
how old I was. 

“ I shall be nine years old come Michaelmas — and 
you ? ” 

“We shall be twelve on Midsummer day. Can you 
read, cousin ? ” 

“ Oh yes ! ” I answered, not without a little feel- 
ing of vain-glory, I dare say. “ I can read and write, 
and I have begun Latin.” 

“We can read and write a little, but not well ; ” 
and then followed a comparison of accomplishments, 
and soon I found I had nothing whereof to boast, 
since my cousins could play on the lute and the vir- 
ginals, embroider in all sorts of stitches, and even 
knit — an art which I had only heard of at that time, 
as practiced in that same convent of Gray Nuns whose 


10 


Lov edciy's History . 

dissolution had sent me to London. We grew excel- 
lent friends over all these inquiries and answers, and 
when we were called down to dinner we descended 
the stairs, not hand in hand, but with our arms round 
each others’ waists. 

We went down to the ground floor this time, and I 
was led into a great dining-room where was a table 
splendidly set out — or so it seemed to my unaccus- 
tomed eyes — with snowy napery, silver and fine col- 
ored ware, such as I had never seen. They were, in 
fact, china dishes, then only beginning to be used by 
the wealthy merchants of London and the Low Coun- 
tries. Sambo and one or two ’prentice lads were just 
placing the dinner on the table, and my uncle was 
standing by the window, looking out upon the garden, 
now all ablaze with flowers, many of which were new 
to me. He turned round as I entered, and showed me 
one of the handsomest and kindest faces I ever beheld 
in my life. He was a man in middle life, tall and 
somewhat stout, though not unbecomingly so, with 
curling brown hair, a little touched with gray at the 
temples, large gray eyes with very long lashes, and a 
chestnut beard trimmed in the fashion of the day. 
He was richly but soberly dressed, and I noticed 
even then the whiteness and fineness of his linen. Sea- 
coal was not used in London then as much as now, 
and it was easier to keep clean. “ So this is my little 
niece, is it ? ” said he, kindly raising me and bending 
down to kiss my forehead as I kneeled to ask his bless- 
ing. “You are welcome, my dear child. May the 
God of thy fathers bless thee.” 

Even then there was something in my uncle’s tone 
which struck me — a peculiar solemnity and earnestness, 


11 


The Beginning . 

quite different from the business-like, rapid fashion in 
which Father Barnaby and our own Sir John used to 
go through the same form. It seemed as if he were 
really speaking to some one. He caused me to sit at 
his right hand, and helped me bountifully from the 
dish of roast fowls which stood before him. The 
dinner was elegantly served, and Sambo showed such 
skill in waiting on his master, and such alacrity in 
helping me to sweetmeats that I found my dislike to 
him sensibly diminishing. Of course we children did 
not speak at the table, and indeed I was too busy 
making my remarks on all I saw to care even for eat- 
ing. I admired the china dishes, so hard and light 
and so beautifully painted ; the clear glass and finely 
wrought silver ; and I once or twice really forgot to 
eat in gazing through the great glass window at the 
flower garden. 

“ You are looking at the flowers ! ” said my uncle. 
“ After dinner we will go and see them nearer.” 

At that moment something made an odd scratching 
noise on the glass door which led into the garden. 
Sambo looked at his master, who smiled and nodded. 
He opened the door and in walked a stately creature, 
which I should hardly have guessed to be a mere cat, 
only for his loud musical purr. He was immensely 
large, and had fur that almost dragged on the ground, 
a bushy tail, and a mane or collar of much longer fur 
round his neck, and as he was of a yellowish color he 
looked not unlike a little lion. He marched up to my 
uncle’s side, where Sambo had already set a joint-stool 
for his accommodation, but seeing a stranger at table, 
he turned and greeted me with great politeness, rub- 
bing his head on my arm as if to invite my caresses. 


12 


Loveday* s History. 


“Do not be afraid,” said my uncle, seeing me 
shrink a little, for indeed the creature’s great size and 
strength made him somewhat formidable to a stran- 
ger. “ He is the best-tempered fellow in the world, 
and a famous playmate, as you will soon find out.” 

Hearing this, and seeing the cat was evidently a favor- 
ite of my uncle’s, I ventured — having finished my 
dinner — to stroke him, an attention which he received 
with condescending kindness. My aunt poured some 
cream into a saucer, and Turk drank it as calmly as if 
it were a matter of course — as indeed it was for him — 
to sit at table and eat cream. 

“ Loveday opens her eyes ! ” said my aunt. “ I dare 
say she never saw a cat sit at table and be served like 
a Christian before. Do you like pets, Niece Loveday?” 

“ Yes, madam ! ” I answered, and indeed I had a 
kind of passion for them, which I had heretofore grat- 
ified almost on the sly, for my Lady Peckham did 
not like pet animals of any kind. 

“ That is well, for we have plenty of them,” said my 
aunt. “ Sambo must show you his popinjay.” 

Sambo bowed, and grinned till his face seemed all 
white teeth. 

“ There, run away, children, and play in the garden 
if you like ! ” said my uncle. “ Take Loveday to see 
the flowers.” 

We went out into the garden, and the girls showed 
me many lovely flowers, such as I had never seen be- 
fore. 

“ My father trades with the Dutch merchants, who 
bring all sorts of curious plants from the Indies,” 
said Katherine. “ That is the way we got our cat and 
Sambo.” 


13 


The Beginning . 

“ Father bought Sambo from a man who treated 
him cruelly,” added Avice. “ When he first came 
here he was a heathen, but my aunt has taught him 
better, and now he can say his paternoster and creed 
in English. We all like him because he is so droll and 
so kind. My Lord Cardinal wanted him for a fool, 
but my father would not give him up.” 

“ I never saw a black man before,” said I. “ I did 
not know there were such things, and when I first saw 
him I thought it was the evil one himself.” 

“Some of our neighbors believe he is not quite 
right,” observed Katherine, “ but he is as good a Chris- 
tian as any one.” 

“Better than some, because he is grateful ! ” said 
Avice. “ Come, now, and we will show you the last 
new tree our father got from foreign parts. There is 
not another in the country, and we are in a great hurry 
to have it bloom, that we may see what the flowers are 
like.” 

I duly admired the foreign tree, or shrub, which had 
thick, glossy leaves, and on which the flower buds 
were just forming, and then, Turk appearing and put- 
ting in a claim for notice, we had a great frolic with 
him, and found him an excellent playfellow, as my 
uncle had said. 

When we went into the house, my aunt called me 
up stairs and showed me my clothes neatly arranged 
in a press, while a small blue bed, like my cousins’, was 
being put up for me in the light closet I have men- 
tioned. 

“ This will be your room as long as you stay here,” 
said she. “ Let me see that you keep it neat and order- 
ly, as a young maid should.” 


14 


Loveday's History . 


I courtesied, and said I would do my best. The 
little room was very pretty, and even luxurious, in my 
eyes. There were no rushes on the floor, such as I had 
been used to seeing — and I now perceived, for the first 
time, what it was that made the floors all over the house 
seem so strange and bare to me. 

“That is one of my nephew’s new-fangled ways, as 
old Dame Madge calls them,” pursued my aunt. “ He 
learned it in Holland among the Dutch, who are the 
cleanest folks in the world.” 

“ Yes, new-fangled ways,” muttered the old dame, 
who was mending somewhat about my bed cur- 
tains. “ It was never a good world since these new 
ways came up. But we shall see — we shall see ! ” 

“ I must needs allow that the air in the house is much 
sweeter since we disused the rushes, which are a 
great cover for dirt and vermin,” pursued my aunt ; 
“ though it makes a great deal of work, washing and 
polishing the floors.” 

“ I noticed how sweet the house smelled,” I ventured 
to say. “ I think the floors look pretty, only — ” and 
then I stopped in some confusion, as it occurred to me 
that I was making very free. 

“ Well, only what ? ” asked my aunt. 

“ Only it seems a pity to see such fine rugs laid 
down to be walked on,” I answered. “ We had only 
two at Peckliam Hall, and one was on the state bed 
and the other on my lady’s own.” 

“ You are an observing child. Sambo says the 
Turks use these rugs just as my brother does, and 
that they kneel on them to say their prayers — poor, 
deluded creatures.” 

My aunt chatted on, and I stood by her side, well 


15 


The Beginning . 

•content to listen to her and answer her questions. She 
had a remarkable way of putting every one at their 
ease, both gentle and simple. We never had anew 
housemaid or ’prentice who did not at once fall in 
love with Mistress Holland. 

“ You must not mind if Dame Madge is a little 
crabbed sometimes ! ” said my aunt, as the old woman 
left the room. “ She is jealous of all newcomers, and 
would fain keep the favor of master and mistress al- 
together to herself. There, now, all is done, I believe,” 
she added, as she hung a holy water basin and cruci- 
fix at the head of the bed. u I hope you will be 
happy here, my child.” 

“I am sure I shall ! ” I answered, with perfect sin- 
cerity, and then, all at once, I remembered that this 
pleasant house was not my home after all— that in a few 
days Mother Benedict would probably come and carry 
me off to that fate which had been waiting for me all 
my life. I suppose my face showed my thoughts, for 
my aunt noticed the change— as what did she not 
notice which concerned the comfort of others — and 
asked me what was the matter. 

“ It is a change for you, I know, but you must try 
not to be homesick.” 

“ I am not homesick ! ” I answered. “ Only — ” and 
then I dropped on my knees, hid my face in my aunt’s 
lap and burst out crying. I don’t know what 
made me. I should never have thought of such a 
thing with my lady, who, though always kind, did 
never invite my caresses. 

“ What is it, dear heart ? What makes thee cry ? 
Tell Aunt Joyce what ails thee, my dear, tender lamb, 
now do ? ” said my aunt, who was apt, in times of in- 


16 


Loveday's History. 


terest, to return to her native Devon. I remember, 
as though it were yesterday, how sweetly sounded in 
mine ears the homely accent, and the words of en- 
dearment which I suppose might find some echo in 
my childish remembrance. Sure ’tis a cruel thing to 
deprive young creatures of those caresses which even 
the dumb beasts bestow upon their young. I have 
always thought that if my lady had been more tender 
and gentle with poor Randall he might have been 
different. 

“ Only I can’t stay here ! ” I sobbed at last. 
“ Pretty soon Mother Benedict will send or come for 
me, and I shall have to go to the convent, to be shut 
up and never see any body, or run in the fields any 
more, and to wear a horrid gray robe, and a veil — ” 
and here I broke down again. 

“ My child, I think you are borrowing trouble ! ” 
said my aunt, with a perplexed look. “ I thought you 
were coming to live with us. I heard nothing about 
any convent.” 

“But I am to go to the convent ! ” I answered. 
“ My lady said so.” 

“Well, well, we will talk to my nephew about it ! ” 
said my aunt. “Don’t cry any more, there’s a lamb, 
but wash your face and come down stairs with me, 
and by and by we will go and take a walk in the 
fields and see the old people in the almshouses. Can 
you sew ? ” 

“ Oh yes, aunt ! ” 

“ Then you shall help me a little, if you will. I am 
making some napkins of old worn linen for #ne of the 
bedeswomen who has watering eyes, and you shall 
hem one for me. As for the convent, I would not 


The Beginning t 1? 

trouble about that just now, at any rate. It will be 
time enough when you have to ga-there.” 

Somewhat comforted, I washed away the traces of 
my tears with the rosewater my aunt gave me, and 
followed her down stairs to the parlor, where my 
cousins were already sitting, the one at her sampler, 
the other at her lute, which she played very prettily 
for a child. If my aunt was in a hurry for the nap- 
kins she gave me to hem, she did not act wisely in 
seating me at the window, for I saw so much to ob- 
serve and admire that my work went on but slowly. 
But I suppose her object was rather to divert me 
from my grief, and in that she certainly succeeded. 
Now it was some gay nobleman of the court with two 
or three attendants, all glittering in gold and em- 
broidery, who passed by — now a showman with a 
tame jackanape or a dancing bear — then a priest under 
a gorgeous canopy, carrying the host in its splendid re- 
ceptacle to some dying person. I can’t pretend to re- 
cite all the wonderful things I saw. I could not help 
wondering where all the people found lodging, and 
how they found their way home at night. Now Lon- 
don is far more crowded than it was then, and it in- 
creases all the time, despite the laws made to check 
the growth of large towns. But I do not think it can 
ever be much larger than it is at present. 



CHAPTER II. 

MORE REMEMBRANCES. 

BOUT four o’clock my uncle came in from liis 
business, and we bad each a bun and some- 
what else — at least we young ones did — for 
my uncle never ate between dinner and supper. He 
greeted me kindly, asked how I had passed my day, 
looked at and commended my work and that of his 
daughters, and asked them if they had somewhat to 
repeat to him. Whereat Katherine recited the twenty- 
third psalm in English, and Avice a part of the hund- 
red and nineteenth. 

“ And what can my little niece say for me ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I can say the penitential psalms in Latin,” I an- 
swered ; “but I do not know them in English.” 

“ Then you shall read a little for me instead,” said 
he ; and drawing me to his side he took from his desk 
a bound book, and turning over the leaves, he pointed 
out a passage, which I read. It was new and strange 
to me, for it talked of God’s care for flowers jmd little 
fowls, and bade men consider that, as they were worth 
much more than these things, so our Heavenly Father 
would provide for all our needs. It ended thus: 

“ Care not for the daye foloynge ; for the day fol- 



More Remembrances. 


19 


oynge shall care for yt sylfe. Eche day’s trouble is 
sufficient for the same silfe day.” 

“ Do you know whose words these are ? ” asked my 
uncle, as I finished. 

“No, uncle,” I answered. 

“They are our dear Lord’s own words,” said he, 
“and spoken for our comfort. Do not you forget 
them.” 

“ I suppose Our Lady made Him say them ! ” I ven- 
tured to remark. 

“No, dear child. Our Lord needs no one to make 
Him send us comfort and help, since He himself loves 
us, and died to redeem us. Never doubt his love, my 
child. That never fails those who seek him, and even 
though he leads them through dark and troubled 
waters — nay, even through the very fiery furnace — it 
is but to guide them to his rest at last.” 

I saw my aunt sigh at these words, as if they had 
some meaning more than met the' ear. For my own 
part, they filled me with amazement. I had always 
been taught to think of our Lord as a harsh and 
severe judge, who relented toward us — when he did 
relent — only at the intercession, or rather commands, 
of Our Lady, his mother. It seemed very strange ; 
but I was presently diverted from the consideration 
thereof by my uncle’s next words. 

“ Did my Lady Peckham send me no letter by you, 
dear child?” 

“ Oh, yes, uncle ! ” I answered, remembering all at 
once the packet my lady had placed among my 
things, with a strict injunction to deliver it to Master 
Gabriel Corbet directly on my arrival. I ran up to 
my room, and finding the package safe and sound in 


20 


Loveday's History. 


my book of Hours, where it had been laid for safe 
keeping, I brought it down and put it into my uncle’s 
hand. He cut the band of floss silk which confined 
it, and was soon engaged in its perusal. Seeing, I 
suppose, that I was watching his face, my aunt directed 
my attention to some pageant passing in the street. 
My eyes, however, soon stole back to my uncle’s face, 
and I was startled to see the change and the look of 
grief which had come over it. Forgetting all decorum 
in my anxiety, I cried out: 

“ Oh, uncle, must I go to the convent ? I will be 
so good if you will only let me stay here.” 

Katherine and Avice looked scared, and so was I 
when I bethought me of what I had done. My uncle, 
however, did not seem angry. On the contrary, he 
put out his hand and drew me toward him. 

“ Listen to me, Loveday, and you also, my children, 
and learn what it costs to nourish a grudge,” said he. 
“ When we were both young, my brother and I quar- 
reled. No matter about what. I thought myself 
wholly the injured party, and, despite all our good 
mother’s efforts, I would not be reconciled. So my 
brother, who was the younger of us two, after vainly 
trying to bring me to a better mind, betook himself 
with his young wife to a little estate in the west 
country, which had been left him by a kinsman. 
More than once did he send overtures for a 
reconciliation, but I — miserable sinner that I was — 
would not even read his letters. Meantime he, 
riding home from market, w r as set upon by robbers 
and miserably murdered. A brother of the kins- 
man who left him the estate started up with a claim 
which was made good by the help of some great man 


2i 


More Remembrances. 

his patron. My sister died from the effects of grief, 
and this poor child was thrown upon the world 
without a protector, and but for the kindness of my 
Lady Peckham, whose husband was her kinsman, she 
might have grown up a wretched, forlorn beggar. 
I humbly thank my dearest Lord,” and here he raised 
his cap, “ who hath both granted me conviction of 
sin and His forgiveness for the same; but He, like 
earthly parents, sometimes leaves the offender to 
smart for his fault, even though he is forgiven. I, 
who would give my hand, could it avail, to call 
my brother’s daughter my own and bring her up as 
such, have forfeited that right by my cruel and un- 
feeling conduct. My Lady Peckham has the right to 
dispose of Loveday, and it is her will that she should 
go to be brought up at the convent of Gray Huns not 
far from Dartford.” So there was no help for it. 
I had much ado to restrain my sobs, and I saw the 
gray eyes of the twins fill with tears. 

“ But, uncle,” I faltered and then stopped. 

“ Loveday does not like the thought of being a 
nun ! ” said my aunt Joyce, finishing the sentence for 
me. 

“She is not to become one just now!” said my 
uncle. “ It seems my lady has promised her husband, 
Sir Edward, that she shall not be professed till she 
is twenty-one, nor then, unless by her own choice.” 

“ Heaven help her, what choice will she have by 
that time ? ” said my aunt. 

“ A good many things may happen in twelve 
years ! ” answered my uncle, dryly. “ These are days 
of change and shaking, you know, aunt. But as 
Loveday is not to go to this same convent till she is 


22 Loveday's History . 

sent for, we will enjoy her company while she is here. 
‘ Each day’s trouble is sufficient for the same self 
day,’ as we have just read. But, my children, if your 
father has humbled himself before you, let not the 
lesson be lost upon you. Remember, never to let the 
seed of anger and malice take root in your hearts — 
no, not for an hour. Sure you may see in my case 
what evil and bitter fruit it may — nay, must bring 
forth — yea, even after the sin hath been confessed 
and done away by Christ His own blood and sacri- 
fice.” 

Young as I was, these words of my uncle made an 
impression on my mind which was never wholly de- 
faced, though covered by the teachings of later years. 
My lady’s contrivance for evading her promise to her 
husband was certainly ingenious. In these days we 
should call it Jesuitical, but we had not then begun 
to hear very much about the Jesuits, though there 
has been coil enough since. 

“ It is a pleasant evening, and the air is fresh and 
cool after the warm day,” said my uncle, after a little 
pause. Get your hoods, my children, and we will 
walkout to the Minories, and then visit the old people 
at the almshouse.” 

Children’s hearts are light. Of course I was pleased 
at the notion of a walk, and by the time I had been 
out half an hour I had persuaded myself that some- 
thing might come to pass to prevent my going to the 
nunnery after all; and I was ready to observe and en- 
joy all the sights of the way. We had not gone far 
before I heard a great whining and grunting behind 
us, and looking round I perceived that we were fol- 
lowed by two lusty, well-fed pigs, which showed 


More Remembrances . 


23 


every desire for a better acquaintance. I had a dis- 
like to hogs, and was always a little afraid of them. 

I pressed closer to my uncle, who was leading me by 
the hand, the twins going before us, and Sambo fol- 
lowing with a great can, the use of which I did not 
understand. 

“ What is it ? ” said my uncle — then seeing the 
direction of my eyes — “ Oh, the pigs ; they will not 
hurt you. Why a country maid should not fear pigs, 
surely. But you wonder w T hy they follow us; I will 
show you.” 

He took from his pockets some crusts of bread 
which he threw to the pigs, and of which they par- 
took with little grunts of content and much shak- 
ing of broad ears and curly tails. I even fancied 
they cast glances of positive regard and affection 
from their queer little eyes. Their repast being 
ended, they turned and trotted back, I suppose, to 
wait for some other patron. 

“ Those are St. Anthony’s pigs,” said my uncle. 
“ The proctors of St. Anthony’s Hospital are used to 
take from the market people such pigs as are ill-fed 
and unfit for meat. These have the ear slit and a 
bell tied round their necks, and being thus, as it were, 
made free of the city, they wander about at will, and 
being fed by charitable persons become very tame and 
familiar, and learn to know and watch for their 
patrons, as you see. But these fellows are growing so 
fat I fear I shall not have them to feed much longer. 
As soon as they grow plump and well-liking, the 
proctor takes them up and they are slaughtered for 
the use of the hospital.” 

It seemed to me rather odd even then, I remember, 


24 Loveday's History . 

that a saint should be a patron of pigs, hut I could 
not help thinking 1 should have liked St. Anthony 
far better than St. Dominic, who tore the poor sparrow 
in pieces for coming into church. We had now gone 
quite a little way from home, when we passed an abbey 
or convent shut in behind a high wall, and I saw that 
there was an open space before us. In effect, we soon 
came to a great green field, where were collected many 
fine cows, some lying down chewing the cud, others 
in the milker’s hands, and still others patiently waiting 
their turn. A sturdy, farmer-looking man was over- 
seeing the work, and a neat woman was straining the 
milk and pouring it warm and rich into the vessels 
brought for its reception. I noticed that she gave 
good measure and many a kind word to the feeble 
old bodies and little children- who brought their jugs 
and their half-pence.* 

“Well, Dame Goodman,” said my uncle, “ you are 
busy as ever.” 

“ Oh, yes, your worship, we are always busy at this 
hour,” answered the dame. “ More people come to 
us at night than in the morning. Where is your 
half-penny, Cicely Higgins?” 

“ I have none to-night,” answered a pale scared-look- 
ing child. “ Mother has been sick all week, and we 
have no money.” 

“ And where is your father ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered the child sadly. “We 
have not seen him in many days, and mother cries so 
I can’t ask her.” 

“ He is where he deserves to be, and that is in 
prison, from which he will come to be burned with 

* This was that tract now known as Goodman’s fields. 


More Remembrances. 


25 


the next batch of heretics ! ” said a sour, thin-faced 
old woman ; “ and serve him right, too, for speaking 
slightingly of the Blessed Virgin. I would they 
were all served with the same sauce.” 

“ For shame, dame ! Have you a woman’s heart in 
your breast, that you speak so to the worse than orphan 
child ?” said my uncle, indignantly. 

“ Oh, ho ! I did not know your worship was so 
near,” answered the old woman, with a cackling 
laugh. “Methinks we are very tender to heretics — 
we are ! ” 

“ We are tender toother sinners besides heretics, 
or a wicked, hard-hearted old woman, who owes two 
quarters rent, would be turned into the street as she 
deserves,” rejoined my aunt, severely. “ You had 
better keep civil words, Dame Davis, at least until 
you can pay your debts.” 

The old woman turned pale at this home thrust, 
and muttering something about meaning no harm, 
retired into the crowd. My uncle asked the child a 
few questions, and then, turning to the dame who was 
measuring the milk, he bade her fill the child’s pitcher, 
at the same time putting a piece of silver into her 
hand. 

“ That I will, your worship, and give her good 
measure too ! ” answered Dame Goodman. “ Jenny 
Higgins is a good, hard-working creature, and not to 
be blamed for her husband’s follies,. Drat the man, 
why can’t he believe as his betters tell him, and not 
go prying where he has no business ? ” 

My uncle smiled, but sadly methought, and Sambo’s 
great can being filled, we walked away by another 
road. 


26 Loveday's History . 

“Who was that old woman, aunt? You seemed 
to know her,” said he presently. 

“ Who was it but old Madge Davis, who lives in 
your house in the Minories, and has paid no rent for 
six months,” answered my aunt. “ She is a bad 
handful, and keeps the other tenants in constant hot 
water by her meddling and tattling.” 

“ That must be seen to. I think we will put her in 
the cottage with old John. He is so deaf she can not 
tattle to him, and there will be no one else to quarrel 
with.” 

“ Most people would turn her into the street,” said 
my aunt ; “ and indeed she deserves nothing better.” 

“ Ah, dear^ aunt, were we all to have our deserts 
who should escape ? ” asked my uncle, sighing. “It 
would ill become me, to whom have been forgiven 
ten thousand talents, to take my fellow-servant by 
the throat who owes me but an hundred pence.” 

I did not understand the allusion at the time, but 
afterward I read the story aloud to my uncle ip his 
great book. We had now come some distance and 
were arrived at another field, inclosed, but with con- 
venient paths and turnstiles for foot passengers. On 
the side of this field toward the street were about 
half a dozen small, but neat and well-built two-story 
cottages, each with its little garden-plot stocked with 
pot herbs and some homely flowers. In most of 
them the windows were open, and on the sills, 
which were quite low, lay a clean white cloth and a 
rosary. The inmates were mostly bed-rid, but in one 
or two the old man or woman might be seen sitting 
bolstered up in a great chair. I at once guessed that 
these were almshouses of some sort. My cousins told 


More Remembrancer. 


2 ? 


me afterward that they were founded by some prior 
of the Priory of Trinity, a kinsman of our own, who 
had left a provision for the care of the poor bedes- 
men and women. 

I now found out the use of the great can of milk 
which Sambo had brought from the abbey field. In 
every window stood a little brown jug, which the 
blackamoor proceeded to fill from the vessel he car- 
ried. The good fellow seemed to enjoy his work of 
charity, to judge by the grins and nods he bestowed 
on the old folks. Most thanked him heartily, but one 
old woman turned away her head, and when my aunt 
rather mischievously asked her if she did not want 
any milk, she muttered that it turned her against it to 
see that heathen nigger pour it out. 

“ Never mind her,” said my uncle to Sambo, who 
looked greatly affronted, as well he might. “ She is a 
poor childish creature you know,” and, taking the can 
from the black man’s hand, he filled the jug himself, 
and passed on smiling, while Sambo muttered that 
Massa was a heap too good. 

The last cottage was the neatest in the row, and a 
hale-looking old man was training a honeysuckle 
round the door. I wondered why he was there, till I 
looked in at the window and espied a wasted old woman 
propped up in the bed, looking more like death than 
life. My uncle stopped and entered into conversation 
with the old man, while we young ones made ac- 
quaintance with a white cat and two kittens which 
were basking in the sun. 

“ With all my heart — with all my -heart ! ” we heard 
the old man say, presently. “ There is plenty of room 
up stairs and the little lass can wait on Mary at odd 


28 


Lor eddy's History. 

times. Poor soul, poor soul ! But will *iot your wor- 
ship come in .and have a word with my poor dame ? 
It does her so much good. And meantime the young 
ladies can look at the garden and the birds.” 

We went round to the back of the house accord- 
ingly, where we found a neat little garden-plot in 
which was a tame sea-gull running about in company 
with a hedge-pig, a lame goose, and a queer little dog, 
which always seemed to go on three legs. We amused 
ourselves with the animals, which came to us at once, 
as if quite used to being noticed, till my uncle called 
us. On the way home, he told my aunt that he had 
arranged with the old man to let Ciceley Higgins’s 
mother live in the upper room of his cottage for the 
present. It seems each of the old people were enti- 
tled to an attendant, but John being a hale man for 
his great age, did not avail himself of the privilege, 
but cared for his wife himself. 

My uncle had some control over these houses by 
virtue of his relationship to the founder, I believe, and, 
therefore, could put in whom he pleased. There were 
many such small charitable foundations about London 
in those days, but they were mostly swept away in the 
great storm which destroyed all the religious houses 
in the land. It was a storm which cleared the air, no 
doubt, but it left some sad wrecks behind it, as is the 
way of tempests. 

When we reached home we had supper, at which 
two or three of my uncle’s friends joined us — elderly, 
sober men like himself. We young ones went to bed 
directly after, and thus ended my first day of London. 



CHAPTER in. 

ANOTHER CHANGE. 

OR a few days I was kept in quite-a fever of 
suspense, thinking every time I heard a 
strange voice or an unusual noise in the 
house, that some one had come for me ; but as the 
days passed into weeks, ,and the weeks into months, 
and I heard nothing from Mother Benedict, I began 
to make myself at home in my uncle’s house. My old 
life in Somersetshire came to seem like a dream — 
almost as much so as that still further away time 
when I lived at Hatcombe farm with my father and 
mother. I practiced my lute, and worked at my white 
seam and tapestry, and kept up my Latin, learning a 
lesson every day which I said to my uncle at night, 
when he never failed to reward me, when I had been 
diligent, with a story out of his great book. For 
recreation we played with our dolls and the cat, 
worked in our own little gardens, and took walks with 
my uncle and aunt to see poor people. Sometimes 
we had playmates of our own to visit us, but not often, 
and I think we preferred each other’s society at all 
times to that of outsiders. 

Once, my uncle took us out of town to spend the 
day with a farmer who rented certain lands from him. 
We went away early in the morning, my aunt riding 



30 


jOoveday's History . 


a sober palfrey, and we children occupying a horse- 
litter under the charge of two or three stout serving 
men ; for, despite the severities exercised toward rob- 
bers and broken men, the ways about London were 
dangerous for small parties. We met with no adven- 
tures, however, and when we reached the open heath, 
my aunt allowed us to get down and walk, on condi- 
tion that we did not go far away. I shall never for- 
get how delightful was the feel of the short springy 
turf under my feet after the stony paths of the city. 
I would have liked to rove far and wide ; but this my 
aunt forbade, and I had to content myself with gath- 
ering such flowers as grew near at hand. We arrived 
at the farm about nine of the clock, and found the 
family had risen from dinner, and were dispersed 
about their several occupations. In those days a 
farmer’s wife would rise, and have all her maids stir- 
ring by three o’clock at latest in summer-time, and 
her day ended by seven or eight. The whole family 
dined together between eight and nine, and master 
and mistress worked as hard as any one. Now some 
of our farmers’ dames must ape their betters by put- 
ting off their dinners till ten o’clock, and cannot, for- 
sooth, soil their fingers with the dung-fork. I don’t 
know what the world is coming to for my part. 

Dame Green gave us the warmest welcome, and at 
once set her daughters and maids to covering the table 
with bread and butter, cream, ginger and saffron 
bread, and a great cold pie like a fortification, with all 
sorts of country dainties. We young ones did ample 
justice to all the good things, but I saw that my aunt 
ate but little, and seemed sad and distraught. 

“ You have some one with you ?” said my aunt, as 


Another Change. 31 

a somewhat high-pitched voice, with a strong London 
accent, made itself heard without. 

“ Yes, my brother-in-law’s widow, and I wish she 
were any where else! ” said Dame Green, with a face 
of disgust. “Poor Thomas Green died bankrupt, and 
Mistress J ane hath no refuge but her brother’s house.” 

“ And a very good refuge too ! ” said my aunt. 
“ ’Tis well for her that she hath such a home open to 
her.” 

“ She does not think so, madam. To hear her talk, 
one would think she was in banishment among the 
savages. I wish she were any where else than here, 
turning the girls’ heads with her talk about tourneys 
and court fashions — much she ever saw of them ! 
But here she comes to answer for herself.” As she 
spoke, a woman entered the room dressed in widow’s 
mourning. She must once have been pretty, in a 
coarse, bouncing fashion, and she wore her weeds with 
a kind of jaunty air. Dame Green presented her to 
my aunt. 

“ Dear me, Mistress Holland, who would have ex- 
pected to see you in the country to-day, of all days in 
the year ! ” cried the lady in a shrill, affected voice. 
“I should have thought you would have staid and 
taken the young ladies to see the spectacle. I have 
been fuming all the morning at being shut up in this 
wild place.” 

We children looked at each other, wondering what 
great sight we had missed. My aunt replied gravely : 

“Such sights are far too sad and dreadful for 
young eyes. Indeed, I know not how any one can take 
pleasure in witnessing the horrible death of a fellow- 
creature.” 


32 Loveday's History. 

Mistress Jane looked a little abashed. 

“ But these are heretics and blasphemers, madam ! 
Surely you will allow that they deserve their deaths. 55 

“ If we all had our deserts, we should be cast into 
a hotter fire than Smithfield ! 55 said my aunt. “ Even 
the fire that never can be quenched. 55 

Mistress Jane looked decidedly offended. 

“ One would think you were one of the Gospelers 
yourself, madam ! For my part, I ever paid my dues 
to Holy Church and took the sacrament regular on 
the great feast days, and I have always given alms 
in charity — yes, to every begging friar that came 
along, besides making two pilgrimages to the shrine 
of Saint Thomas of Canterbury, and if that won’t in- 
sure my salvation, I wonder what will ? I’m not like 
some folks that grudge a poor widow so much as a 
jaunt to London,” with a sjfiteful glance at her sis- 
ter. “Every one knows ’tis a good work to assist at 
the burning of a heretic.” 

We children glanced at each other again, which my 
aunt seeing, after exchanging a look with our hostess, 
said rather quickly — 

“If you have finished your dinners, children, you 
may run out and play.” 

“Yes, to be sure ! ” said the dame. “Dolly, take 
the young ladies out and show them the new chickens 
and the little ducklings swimming in the pond.” 

I, for one, would rather have staid to hear the talk 
in which I felt a kind of dreadful interest, but I was 
used to obey without a word, of course. Dolly was a 
nice, good-natured, bouncing girl, who was much de- 
lighted with the new ribbons and kirtle my aunt had 
brought for her. She did her best to entertain us, 


Another Change . 


33 


leading us all about the farm and showing us the 
young fowls and the lambs at play in the pasture. 
In the course of our rambles we passed a little ruin- 
ous house, half-overgrown with nettles and brambles, 
but yet bearing the marks of having once been a 
church-building of some sort. 

“ What is that ? ” asked Katherine. 

Dolly crossed herself. “ That is the hermit’s cell,” 
said she, “ but no one lives there now. The place has 
an evil name, and is haunted.” 

“ Why, what is the matter with it ? ” asked Kath- 
erine. 

Dolly hurried us to some distance from the scene, 
and then told us the story, which at this distance of 
time I do not clearly remember, only that it was that 
of a hermit who was once very holy and even worked 
miracles. 

“ They say he had an image of the Virgin-of such 
wonderful power, that it would bow its head, and 
spread out its hands to bless whoever brought it an 
offering. But by and by the hermit got into a 
strange way, refused to say masses in the little chapel 
you see there, and was heard at night, talking with 
some invisible person. At last, one morning when he 
had not been seen for a long time, search was made 
for him, but naught could they find but his gown. and 
breviary, and the holy image which lay dashed all in 
fragments on the floor of the chapel.” 

This is the tale as nearly as I remember it. Dolly 
added, that since then, lights were often seen, and 
voices heard in the ruins, and that no one would go 
near them after dark ; indeed it was regarded as so 
dangerous to do so that her father had strictly for- 
bidden it. 


34 


Loveday's History . 


When we returned to the house we found my 
uncle had arrived. Pie greeted us kindly as usual, 
but his face looked worn and had a set expression, as 
of one who has been forced against his will to behold 
some horrible sight. But I had not much time to 
speculate on his face. I had not been well lately, and 
had been subject to fits of coldness and swooning, 
which my aunt declared were caused by a tertian ague. 
I suppose I might have over-fatigued myself, for one 
of these same fits came on now, and I came near fall- 
ing from my seat. 

I was put to bed with all speed, and dosed with I 
know not what hot and spicy cordials from the dame’s 
stores ; but all did not serve. I had a hard chill, and 
then a fever, after which I fell asleep. When I 
waked all was quiet, only for the noises out of doors. 
I felt very comfortable, though weak and disinclined 
to stir. So I lay still, and watched the bees buzzing 
in the eglantine and jasmine round the casement, 
till I became aware of some one talking in the next 
room, the door of which was half open. The voices 
were those of my uncle and aunt. 

“ So he met his death bravely ? ” said my aunt. 

“ Like a hero ! ” answered my uncle. “ Even when 
he parted from his wife, who by the kindness of the 
sheriff was allowed to take leave of him just outside 
the prison gate, he showed no signs of giving way, 
but kissed her and sent his blessing to his child, as if 
he had been setting out on an ordinary journey.” 

“And she?” 

“ She was no less brave than himself, poor heart, 
bidding him have no care for her — she should do very 
well. He bade her so to live as that they should 


Another Change. 


35 


meet in heaven ; whereat one that stood by struck him 
on the mouth, bidding him be silent for a foul- 
mouthed heretic. Whereat, Higgins turned to him 
and said calmly — ‘ God give thee repentance, friend, 
for an’ if He do not, thou art in a worse case than I.’ 
When he had passed, and not before, did the poor wife 
fall down in a fit, and was charitably cared for by 
some women of her acquaintance.” 

“ And Higgins was brave to the last ? ” 

“ Yes, to the very last moment. He would not so 
much as listen to the promise of pardon if he would 
repent, and commended his soul to God as the faggots 
were lighted. There was plenty of tar and resin 
among them, and I think he suffered not long.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” said my aunt, and I knew by 
her voice that she was weeping. 

“ But oh, nephew, when will all this end ? ” 

“I know not, aunt ; but I trust and believe that it 
will end in the establishment of truth and a free 
Gospel in all this land. It may not be in our time, 
but it will surely come.” 

Here I made some movement, and my aunt coming 
to me, I heard no more. But I often thought of the 
conversation afterward, and puzzled over it. I had 
been brought up by my Lady Peckham to think a 
heretic the worst of criminals. Yet here were mine 
uncle and aunt, the very best people I had ever known, 
whose sympathy was clearly on the side of one at 
least of these heretics. Childlike, I turned the matter 
over and over in my mind without ever mentioning it 
to any one, or asking for a solution of my puzzles. 

It was not thought best for me to return to London 
that night, and, indeed, I was not able. I staid at 


36 Loveday's History . 

the farm some weeks, part of the time having my 
cousins for company. It was pretty dull at first, but 
as I grew better and able to go about, I liked it very 
well. My only trouble was Mistress Jenny Green, 
whom I came absolutely to hate. She was always 
catechising me about my uncle’s family, what com- 
pany they kept, what furniture, etc., they had, where 
we went to church, and all sorts of trifling particulars. 
At other times she would spend hours in bewailing 
her hard lot, and describing the fine things she had 
enjoyed in her London home. Truly, if she spent half 
what she said, ’tis no wonder her husband became 
bankrupt, poor man. Then she took a great fit of devo- 
tion — would go to matins and vespers and all other 
services at a convent church not far away ; kept 
fasts and vigils, and had even made up her mind 
to receive from the priest of that house the 
widow’s mantle and ring ; * but a suitor from 
London turning up in the shape of a smart young 
draper, she changed her mind, married him on the 
instant, and went away to London, to the great relief 
of her own family, and the scandal of the priest 
aforesaid. This I have learned since. I was too 
young to know much about it at the time, only I 
well remember how glad we were to see her go. 

It was now drawing toward midsummer, and my 
health being fairly settled again, I was sent for home. 
I parted with my kind hostess and her family with 
real regret, which I fear was not altogether unselfish. 

* It was formerly a custom for widows who did not desire to 
marry again to make a vow to that effect, at which time they 
received a mantle and ring, A breach of this vow was counted 
very disgraceful. 


Another Change . 


37 


At the farm I was quite a great lady, petted and 
waited on, and treated with great consideration. At 
home I was only little Loveday — a child of the family, 
taking my place with the others, having my daily 
tasks, and checked and reproved if I did them amiss. 
I began to be sullen and discontented, careless about 
my lessons and my work, and pert when spoken to. 
One day my uncle heard me give my Aunt Joyce a 
very saucy answer (which I had never dared to do 
had I known he was by). He ordered me at once to 
beg her pardon, and when transported with passion I 
refused, he punished me severely, and ordered that I 
should be kept in penitence till I submitted. I dare 
say I should have done the same thing in his place, 
and yet I do not think it was the best way in my own 
case. I had enough of my family spirit to know how 
to cherish a grudge. I thought my aunt was wrong 
in blaming me (as indeed she was, for I am confident 
I never touched the glass she charged me with break* 
ing) ; my Corbet blood was roused, and I would not 
give way. I had my meals by myself for several 
,days, and was not spoken to by any of the family. 

There was one person in the house who thoroughly 
rejoiced in my disgrace, and that was old Madge. 
She had always been jealous of me, being one of those 
people to whom it seems necessary if they love one 
person or thing, to hate some other person or thing in 
exact proportion. Madge fancied, I believe, that my 
adoption by my uncle would lessen by just so much 
the portions of her darlings, Katherine and A vice. 
They could do nothing wrong in her eyes. We were 
required to put our rooms and beds to rights. Kath- 
erine was apt to be rather careless, more so than 


38 


Loveday's History . 


myself, but while Madge would always pick up and 
put away for her, she took care that any little slut- 
tishness of mine should be sure to meet my aunt’s eye. 
Nay, I used to accuse her in mine own mind (and I 
am not sure now that I was wrong) of purposely put- 
ting my affairs out of order that I might get a re- 
proof. However that might be, my faults lost nothing 
in her hands. Madge’s granddaughter was one of our 
maids, and a spiteful thing she was, and quite 
°ready to follow her grandmother’s lead, so far as I 
was concerned. She had a bachelor who was a jour- 
neyman of my Lord Mayor, and they were to be 
married in the course of the summer. ’Twas a 
match rather above her degree, but Betty was a 
pretty creature, and knew how to ingratiate herself 
well enough. My aunt had promised her her body 
and house linen, and also her wedding gown. 

It was the day before St. John’s eve, whereon the 
marching watch was to be set forth with greater 
bravery than usual. I had heard a great deal from 
my cousins about this splendid show on St. John’s eve. 
The citizens of London were accustomed to set tables 
before their doors plentifully laden with meats and 
drinks, whereof all passers-by were invited to par- 
take. The houses were decorated with lamps and 
cressets, and the doors shadowed with canopies of 
sweet herbs and all sorts of flowers. Every body was 
abroad to see the marching watch in their bright 
harness, with their attendants bearing cressets upon 
poles, while others carried oil wherewith to feed 
them. Then there were pageants, morris -dancers, 
and musicians without end. It was, indeed, a goodly 
and gallant show. 


Another Change . 


89 


Great heaps of flowers and herbs had been sent in 
from the farm, and my aunt and cousins, with the 
maids, were busy weaving garlands. The cook and 
his assistants were well-nigh driven frantic by the 
heat and their cares, while Sambo flitted here and 
there like a magpie, helping every one, and showing 
his white teeth with endless grins and chuckles. 
Sambo was my firm friend and took my part on all 
occasions, which did not help me with Dame Madge. 
I should have been in the thickest of the plot at any 
other time, and my assistance was not to be despised, 
small as I was, but no one asked me to help, and I 
wandered about, feeling very forlorn and bitter, in- 
deed, and wishing that Mother Benedict would come 
and carry me away to the convent. 

In this mood I went out to the garden, where my 
own little flower plot lay looking so prim and pretty, 
and where I had spent so many pleasant hours with 
my cousins, who were now not allowed to speak with 
me, though they often gave me looks of compassion. 
Indeed, Katherine had brought herself into temporary 
disgrace on my account, by telling Betty before her 
grandam, that she was a spiteful, tale-bearing pyet, 
and deserved to be whipped far more than I did. I 
walked about the garden, feeling miserable enough, 
when the thought struck me that I would go and look 
at my uncle’s Indian tree, which was now coming 
into flower. I knew that two buds had been just 
ready to burst the night before. Lo ! not two but 
three or four flowers were fully out. I know not how 
to describe them, for I never saw any like them be- 
fore or since. They were round in shape, somewhat 
like a rose but more regular, with thick, wax-like 


40 


Loveday" s History . 

leaves, and some yellow in the center. I stood, as it 
were, entranced before them, and at last I stooped 
down and kissed one of them, but without doing it 
any harm. 

“ So, Mistress Loveday ! ” said Madge’s sharp voice 
behind me, “ you are not content with what you 
have done, but you must needs break and spoil your 
good uncle’s flowers.” 

I turned and saw Madge and Betty regarding me. 
I vouchsafed them no reply, but walked away to my 
own garden, my heart swelling almost to bursting 
with anger, grief, and wounded pride. Somehow its 
neatness and brightness seemed to mock me, and, in a 
fit of rage, I set my foot on a beautiful white lily and 
crushed it into the earth. The deed was no sooner 
done than repented. Bursting into tears, I raised the 
poor plant from the ground. Its once white flower, 
all broken and smirched with soil, seemed to reproach 
me with my cruelty. It was ruined beyond hope. I 
wept over it till I could weep no more, and then, 
mournfully burying it out of sight, I returned to the 
house. 

That evening, as I was sitting in my own room, 
trying to divert myself a little with my work, I re- 
ceived a summons to the parlor. There sat my uncle, 
with the severest face I had ever seen him wear. In 
his hands he held one of the flowers of the India tree, 
broken and soiled. 

“ Loveday, do you know any thing of this?” said 
he, sternly. 

I felt myself change color, but answered firmly: 
“No, uncle. I saw four flowers on the tree this 
morning, but I have not seen them since.” 


Another Change. 41 

u That is not true,” said he, more sternly still. 
“ You were seen to pick them, to crush them, and 
then bury them in the ground in your garden, where 
this one was found just now.” 

“ I did not do any such thing ! ” I answered, hotly 
enough. “ I did kiss one of them, because it looked 
so friendly at me, but I did not hurt it, I know.” 

My uncle made a sign to Betty, who was standing 
by. To my utter amazement, she declared that she 
and her grandmother had just stopped me from de- 
stroying the flowers in the morning, and that watch- 
ing me afterward, from the chamber window, she 
had seen me carry something to my garden and 
stamp it into the earth. She had not thought much 
about it till she heard the flowers were missing, and 
then looking where she had seen me at work, she 
found one of the flowers. 

What could I say ? I could only repeat my denial. 
I had never hurt the flowers nor touched them, ex- 
cept that I had kissed one of them, as I said. 

“ And this story you stand to, though Betty saw 
you with her own eyes trying to spoil the flowers 
this morning ? ” 

“ Yes, I do stand to it ! ” I answered, driven to des- 
peration by the plot against me, and what seemed 
the hopelessness of my case. “ Betty is a liar and so 
is Madge, and some time you will And them out.” 

I think my uncle dared not trust himself to punish 
me. He knew the infirmity of his own temper. I 
can feel for him, since I have the same temper myself. 

“I cannot have an obstinate liar and rebel in my 
family ! ” said he. “ Unless you confess and humble 
yourself, I must send you away.” 


42 


Zoveday's History. 

I saw my aunt whisper something in his ear, but he 
shook his head, and repeated: “Unless you confess 
and humble yourself, I must send you away to the 
convent ! ” 

“You may send me as soon as you please ! ” I re- 
torted, desperate in my misery and hopelessness, for I 
could see no way out of my trouble. “ I may as well 
be in one place as another, so long as nobody believes 
me, or cares about me. I wish I had never come 
here ! ” 

My aunt put out her hand between me and my 
uncle, as he started from his seat ; but there was no 
need, for whatever his impulse was, he checked himself 
in a moment. 

“ Take this wicked child away, and let her remain 
by herself till she shall come to a better mind ! ” 
said he. “I cannot now trust myself to deal with 
her.” 

“ You had better read over what you read in your 
great book the other day about charity ! ” I retorted, 
naughty child that I was. “Any how the Holy Virgin 
and the Saints know that 1 never touched the flower, 
and they know who did, too.” I saw Betty wince at 
this. “ I will never care for or believe in that book 
again, for it makes you unkind and wicked.” 

I did not see the effect of my bold words, for my 
aunt hurried me away. She took me, not to my own 
bed-closet, but to a room in the front of the house, 
next her own, which we children always called the 
Apostles’ room, because it had figures of the apostles 
wrought on the hangings. Here she left me, turning 
the key upon me, but presently came back with 
Sambo carrying a truckle bed, and whatever I needed 


Another Change . 


43 


for the night. My wild anger had subsided into sul- 
len grief by that time, and I never spoke. 

I was left alone till supper-time, when Betty came 
up, bringing me a basin of milk and a slice of brown 
bread. 

“ Here is your supper, and a great deal better than 
you deserve ! ” said she, in her provoking taunting 
tone — old fool that I am, the very remembrance makes 
my blood boil. “ Here is a fine end to your airs, for- 
sooth ; a country wench to be set up for a lady ! ” 

The words were not out of her mouth before she 
received a stinging box on each ear from the hands of 
my aunt, who had followed her in time to hear her 
words. 

“ Take that — and that — for thy impudence ! ” said 
my aunt, repeating the application, “ and let me hear 
you beg my niece’s pardon directly or you leave the 
house this hour. Country wench, indeed ! ” and 
again my aunt’s hand emphasized her remarks on 
Betty’s cheek.* 

“ I beg your pardon, mistress ! ” sobbed Betty. 

“ That is well. But why are you here at all ? I 
bade Sambo bring the tray, and where are the manch- 
ets I laid upon it.” 

“ Guess dat Betty eat ’em herself ! ” said Sambo, 
who stood thoroughly enjoying Betty’s disgrace, for 
they were old enemies. “ I just went out to bring 
Missy Lovely” — that was his version of my name — “ a 
flower from her own bed, and, see here, missy, what I 
find.” As he spoke he held up a pair of scissors 
which we both knew to be Betty’s. 

* Much greater ladies than Mrs. Holland beat their maids till 
long after this time. See Pepy’s diary. 


44 


Loveday's History . 

“ Where did you find these ? ” asked my aunt. 

“ Sticking in the dirt in Missy Lovely garden,” an- 
swered the negro. “ I tell you, Missy Holland, dat 
gul a deep one.” 

“ Hush, Sambo, you forget yourself ! ” said my 
aunt, smiling. “ Go down and ask the cook for one 
of the new baked saffron cakes, and bring it up. As 
for you, Betty, I shall watch you, and woe be to you 
if you have spoken falsely, or if I hear you use 
another impertinent word. Go, now, take your besom 
and sweep every bit of dust from the summer-house 
and the paved walks. Finish the work before you 
leave it, and let me see it done nicely, or I will lay one 
of the besom twigs about your shoulders.” 

I don’t think my aunt was one bit sorry to have a 
legitimate cause for falling upon Betty. When we 
were alone together, she sat down in a great chair, 
and drawing me to her, spite of my resistance, she 
prayed me most kindly and gently to tell her the 
whole truth. “ What is the use, aunt ? ” I asked, not 
so much sullenly as hopelessly. “ I have told the 
truth already, and nobody will believe me. You 
credit Betty, though you know she tells lies, and I 
have never told a lie since I came into the house. And 
even if you do, my uncle will not. I thought he was 
the best man in the world, and now I never can think 
him good any more ! ” 

“ You know, Loveday, no one would have thought 
of such a thing if you had not been naughty before ! ” 
said my aunt, gently. “ Have I not always been good 
to you ? ” 

“ Yes, Aunt Joyce.” 

“ And yet, because I gave you a just reproof for 


Another Change. 45 

carelessness, yon answered me pertly, and then refused 
to make amends, as is every Christian person’s 
duty, whether they be young or old. Was that 
right?” 

“ I suppose not ! ” I answered, softening a little ; 
“ but indeed, aunt, I am sure I did not break the glass. 
I never touched it, and was quite a distance away 
when I heard it crack.” 

" Very well, I will take your account of it ! ” said 
my aunt, after a little consideration ; “ but why could 
you not have said so, as well as to answer me so pert- 
ly?” 

“I am sorry I was pert ! ” I answered, softening as 
soon as I saw that my aunt was disposed to do me jus- 
tice. “I beg your pardon. But, indeed, indeed, I did 
not break the Indian tree.” 

“ Tell me all about it ! ” said my aunt. “ How was 
it?” 

I began and went over the whole story — how badly 
I had felt ; how I went to see the Indian tree, and 
had kissed one of the flowers, because I fancied that 
it looked kindly at me ; how Madge and Betty had 
accused and taunted me ; and how in my rage I broke 
the white lily.” 

“ But that was very foolish ! ” said my aunt. 
“ What had the poor lily done ? ” 

“ Nothing, aunt ! I was sorry the next minute, 
and I buried it in the ground, that I might not see the 
poor thing any more.” 

“ That was what Betty saw you doing in your gar- 
den, then ? ” 

“ Yes, aunt ; I suppose so.” 

My aunt mused a little, holding my hand in hers 


46 Loveday's History . 

meantime. Then she raised her head and said de- 
cidedly : 

“ Loveday, I am disposed to believe that you are 
telling the truth. I do not think you hurt the flower, 
unless you broke it by accident, as you say you kissed 
it. Are you sure you did not ?” 

“ Yes, aunt ; quite sure. Oh, Aunt Joyce, do be- 
lieve me. I can’t live if every one thinks me a liar.” 
And then I began to cry again. My aunt hushed me 
and tried to make me eat, but that I could not do. 
She then undressed me and put me to bed with her 
blessing. My fierce indignation was all gone by that 
time, and I began to hope that things would come 
right after all. 

I don’t know whether or not my aunt imparted to 
my uncle her own convictions of my innocence, but 
if so, she did not succeed in convincing him. I staid 
in my solitude all day, but I was allowed my em- 
broidery frame, and Sambo — with my aunt’s con- 
nivance, I imagine — brought his talking popinjay to 
amuse me. It was a very pretty and entertaining 
bird, and I beguiled my solitude by teaching it some 
new words and phrases. 

Toward night, however, the scene outside became 
so gay and animated that I almost forgot my griev- 
ances in watching it. As I have said, my uncle’s 
house was built with the upper stories overhanging, 
and my room had besides a projecting window, so I 
could see up and down the street for a long way. All 
the houses had been adorned with garlands of sweet 
herbs and flowers, and branches of lights which were 
now being kindled and made a fine show. Before 
every house of any consequence was set a table with 


Another Change. 


47 


store of meat and drink, which was free to all 
comers. My uncle’s great chair was placed on the 
pavement, and Sambo stood behind it dressed in his 
gayest suit. The maids, all in their best, were gathered 
at an upper window to see the show, and Betty had 
put herself particularly forward. 

But now came the sound of music and the tramp 
of horses, and every body was on the alert. Presently 
I saw the head of the procession coming round the 
corner. First came sundry pageants, morris dan- 
cers with bells, and so forth ; then men in bright 
armor, each one with an attendant bearing a light 
upon a pole. Then came the Mayor and his attend- 
ants, on foot and on horseback, all with scarlet jerkins 
trimmed with gold lace, and posies at their breasts. 
I knew one of the footmen was Betty’s bachelor, and 
had seen him more than once. As he came abreast 
of the house, he looked up, and there, fastened in his 
jerkin, were the missing flowers. 

Somebody else had seen them too. As the man saw 
his mistress looking at him he put his hand to his cap 
to salute her, and in so doing he brushed the flowers 
from his breast. Before he had time to miss them, 
Sambo sprang upon them like a black cat upon a 
mouse, put them in his bosom, and returned to his 
place, before any one but myself, and I think Betty, 
saw what he had done. She uttered some sort of ex- 
clamation, and retired from the window, and though 
she presently returned, I don’t think she greatly en- 
joyed the rest of the show, gorgeous as it was. 

The procession passed with all its lights and music, 
its images of giants, and all the rest of the show, and 
disappeared in the distance. The tables were carried 


48 


Loveday's History . 

in, the lights extinguished, and I went to bed, feeling 
greatly comforted by the thought that my innocence 
was like to be established. 

The next morning my dinner was brought me as 
usual, and it was not till noon that my aunt came and 
led me down to the parlor. There sat my uncle in 
his great chair, the withered red flowers on the table 
before him. Teddy Stillman, Betty’s sweetheart — a 
decent looking whitesmith — stood near, twirling his 
flat cap in his hands, his honest face cast down with 
a look of grief and shame. Sambo stood behind his 
master’s chair, like a statue done in ebony, and Betty 
was crying in a corner. My uncle held out his hand 
to me and bade me approach. 

“ Do you see these flowers, niece ? ” 

“ Yes, uncle,’ I answered. 

“ Do you know where they were found ? ” 

“ Yes, uncle.” And being further questioned, I told 
him what I had seen from my window the night be- 
fore. The laundry-woman testified to seeing red 
flowers fall, and Sambo pick them up, but she had not 
^understood the matter. She thought they were roses. 

“ It skills not talking further, Master Corbet,” said 
the whitesmith, raising his eyes and speaking in a 
modest, manly sort of way. “ It is true that I had 
these same red flowers in my breast, and dropped 
them, but I saw not the blackamoor pick them up.” 

“But how came you by them — that is the ques- 
tion,” said my uncle. “ There is not their like in 
London, as I well know. I beg of you, Stillman, to tell 
me the whole truth, and you will see my reason for it 
when I tell you that this young lady, my niece, hath 
been accused of wantonly destroying them, on the 


Another Change . 


49 


witness of Betty Davis, wlio declares that she saw 
Mistress Loveday Corbet about to break them off and 
stopped her, and afterward watched her bury some- 
thing in her own garden-bed, where she, Betty, pro- 
fessed to find one of the flowers.” 

“ I only said,” Betty began ; but* her grandam 
stopped her with a clutch at her arm and a muttered 
“ Be quiet, wench ; you will but make matters 
worse.” 

Teddy Stillman cast upon his sweetheart a look of 
grief, which must have touched her heart if she had 
any, and then turned to my uncle. 

“ I must needs speak, since it is to clear the inno- 
cent,” said he. “ Betty gave me these flowers yester- 
day with her own hand, at the back gate, when I came 
to put ' up the branches for the lights. She said the 
cat had broken down the plant, and her mistress said 
she might have them. So I took them, thinking no 
evil, as she hath often given me flowers and posies of 
rosemary and lavender, which she said her mistress 
had given her. 

“ So that is what became of my lavender buds,” 
said my aunt, who was great in distilling and com- 
pounding of herbs, and worshiped her lavender beds 
as if they had been the shrines of saints. 

My uncle dismissed Teddy, with thanks and com- 
mendation for his frankness, but I noticed he did not 
offer him any money. The poor lad made his 
obeisance, and passed out without so much as looking 
at his sweetheart. Then my uncle, in presence of the 
whole family, declared his belief in my entire inno- 
cence of what had been charged to me, and, turning to 
me, he asked my pardon, saying he had been too 


50 


Loveday's History , 


ready to condemn me on the evidence of one who had 
proved herself a thief and a liar. This concession on 
my uncle’s part dissolved in a moment all the remains 
of my stubbornness. 

“No, no, uncle ! ” I cried, dropping on my knees. 
“It was I that- was wicked and obstinate, and I am 
sorry ; and I begged aunt’s pardon before. Please 
forgive me, uncle, and I will not be pert any more.” 

“We will both forgive and forget,” said my uncle, 
raising and kissing me. 

“You have need to thank Sambo, niece, for it was 
his sharp sight and quick hand which brought to light 
the proofs of your innocence. Give him your hand.” 

I did so willingly, and Sambo kissed it with many 
grins and giggles. Then the servants were dismissed, 
and presently I saw Sambo dancing a dance of triumph 
on the stones of the garden walk, to the music of his 
own singing and whistling. The twins were over- 
joyed, and w 7 ould have given me all their most cher- 
ished possessions to celebrate the event. My uncle 
said he would take us to the Tower to see the lions, 
and bade us get ready. I escaped for a little, and 
shutting myself in my own little room, I said a prayer 
for forgiveness and repeated a paternoster. As I did 
so, the sense of the words came to me as never be- 
fore, and I resolved that I would try to forgive even 
Betty. 

We went to the Tower and saw the lions — two very 
fine fellows — a leopard and some other wild creatures, 
and enjoyed the fearful pleasure of feeding the great 
brown bear with cakes. On the way home, my uncle 
took us to see some of the goldsmiths’ and other fine 
shops, and bought us each a fairing. At one place, 


Another Change. 51 

a silk mercer’s, he asked the elderly man in attendance 
about his son. 

“He hath not yet returned,” said the old man, 
shaking his head ; “ a dangerous service, Master Cor- 
bet — a dangerous service ; but we must not withhold 
even Isaac when the Lord calls for him.” 

“Truly not, my brother,” answered mine uncle ; 
“but I hope the need of these perilous journeys may 
soon be past. I heard it from one that knows what 
goes on at Court, that his Grace is like to be moved 
of his royal bounty to give to this land a free gospel 
before long.” 

The old man’s face lighted up : “ The Lord fulfill it 
— the Lord fulfill it, Master Corbet. But think you it 
is true ? The Chancellor is very bitter against Master 
Tyndale ? ” 

“ The Chancellor is like to need his breath to cool 
his own porridge, if all tales be true,” said my uncle ; 
“ but this is not the place, nor does it become us to be 
talking of such matters. I hope your son may soon 
return in safety.” 

When we reached home, which we did in time for 
supper, Betty was missing. Anne, the laundry woman, 
slept in our room that night. The next day we heard 
that Betty had been sent to her home in the country, 
and old Madge had gone with her, not choosing to 
stay after her favorite grandchild was disgraced. I 
don’t think my aunt was very sorry to have the old 
woman go of her own accord, though she would never 
have sent her away, for the poor thing was grown so 
cankered and jealous that she kept the house in hot 
water. After Betty’s departure, some of the other 
maids were very forward in their tales of her dishon- 


52 Loveday's History . 

est practices and running out of nights, but my aunt 
treated these tales with very little ceremony, saying 
that the time to have told them was not behind 
Betty’s back, but when she was there to speak for 
herself. I hardly ever saw any one with such a strong 
sense of justice as Aunt Joyce. It showed itself in 
all she did, and was one secret of her success in gov- 
erning a household. 

Things had now returned to their usual course. 
I went about my lessons and my play with the 
other children, and, warned by what had happened, 
was careful to give no just cause of offense. My 
uncle was kinder to me than ever, but there was a 
cloud on his brow and a look of sadness on his face 
when his eyes rested on me that I could not under- 
stand, and which made me vaguely uneasy. Once I 
heard my aunt say in a tone of deep regret, “Ah, 
nephew, if only you had not been so hasty ; ” and 
my uncle muttered, “ Mea culpa, mea culpa,” and 
hid his face in his hands. 

It was about two weeks after the affair of the 
flowers that I was coming in from the garden, when 
I. saw some one that I knew to be a priest by his 
dress, passing into mine uncle’s private room. I was 
not greatly surprised, for we had many clerical visitors, 
but they were usually secular priests, while this 
man was a regular. I went up to my room — we 
had been promoted to the tapestry room since Madge 
went away, and felt quite grown up in consequence — - 
washed my hands, and put on a clean kerchief and pin- 
afore, those I wore being the worse for my labors in 
the garden. As I was finishing my dressing opera- 
tions, my aunt entered the room, and I saw in a mo- 


Another Change . 53 

ment that she had been weeping. All of a sudden — 
I don’t know how — a cold weight seemed to fall on 
my heart. I have had many such premonitions of 
evil in my day, and they have never come without 
cause. 

“ My dear child,” said she, and then she fell a- weep- 
ing as if her heart would break, for a minute or two, 
I standing by, wondering what could have happened, 
and feeling sure that whatever it was, it concerned 
myself. All of a sudden, a notion came across me, 
and I cried out in anguish: 

“ Oh, aunt, have they come to take me away to the 
convent ? ” 

“ It is even so, my child,” said my aunt, command- 
ing herself with a great effort. “ The prioress of the 
convent at Dartford hath sent for you, and my 
nephew hath no choice but to let you go.” 

If a tree that is torn up by the roots can feel, it 
must feel very much as I did that morning. I had 
taken very deep root in my new home, and, except 
during the sad time when I was in trouble about the 
flowers, I had been very happy. I had come to love my 
aunt and uncle dearly, and the twins had become, as 
it were, a part of my very heart. I loved the pleas- 
ant, easy ways of my uncle’s household, where each 
was made comfortable according to his degree; where 
abundance and cheerful hospitality sat at the board, 
and peace and love were our chamber-mates, and 
watched over our pillows. My uncle was hasty-tem- 
pered, it was true, but even a child as I was could see 
what a watch he kept over himself in this respect. 
But alas, and woe is me. Such a temper is like a 
package of gunpowder. The fire thereof is out in an 


54 


Loveday's History . 


instant, but in that instant it hath done damage that 
can never be repaired. I was absolutely stricken dumb 
by the greatness of the calamity which had over- 
taken me, and could not speak a word. I think 
my aunt was frightened at my silence; for she kissed 
and tried to rouse me. At last I faltered — 

“Must I go to-day?” 

“ I fear so, my dear lamb. The prioress of the 
convent has sent for you by the hands of their 
priest, and as two ladies are to travel down into Kent 
with him, you will be well attended.” 

With that, my aunt bestirred herself, and called 
Anne, the laundry-woman, to help in getting my 
clothes together. The twins had come in by that 
time ; they had been away to visit some old kinswoman 
of their mother’s, and they had to be told the news. 
Both Katherine and Avice cried bitterly, but I could 
not cry. I was like one stunned. 

At last, at my uncle’s summons, 1 was called down 
to the parlor to speak with the priest. He was a good- 
natured looking, easy-going specimen of a regular, 
and greeted me kindly enough, bestowing his bless- 
ing as I kneeled to receive it, in that rapid, mechanical 
fashion I so well remembered in Father Barnaby and 
Father John. 

“ And so you are coming to the convent to be a 
holy sister, as my good Lady Peckham desires ! ” 
said he. Then to my uncle: “In truth, ’tis a fair of- 
fering, Master Corbet. I almost wonder that having 
such a jewel in your hands you should give her up 
— that is, if she be as towardly as she is fair of 
face ? ” 

“Loveday is a good child in the main, though 


Another Change. 55 

she has her faults and follies like other children ! ” 
replied my uncle. 

“ And grown folks, too, eh, Master Corbet ? ” said 
the priest, with a jolly laugh. “I don’t know that 
the follies of youth are worse than the follies of age, 
do you ? ” 

“ They are not a tenth part as bad ! ” said mine 
uncle, with a good deal of bitterness. “ ‘ There is no 
fool like an old fool,’ is a true and pithy saying.” 

“Even over true ! ” returned the priest; then turn- 
ing to me: “ Well, daughter, you must have wondered 
that you were left so long, that is if you thought of 
it at all. The truth is, Sister Benedict, who had the 
matter in charge, died soon after she came to us, and 
the affair was quite forgotten, till your good uncle’s 
letter reminding the prioress of her duty ; she looked 
over some papers Sister Benedict had left, and found 
my Lady Peckham’s letter.” 

So it was my uncle’s doing. I remembered all at 
once his own words : “I will not have an obstinate 
liar in my family ” — and the cloud that had rested 
on his brow ever since. He had done the deed in 
one of his hasty fits of temper, and only for him, the 
prioress would never have thought of sending for me. 

Folks are apt to talk slightingly of the sorrows of 
childhood, but they must be those who do not re- 
member their own. When a cup is full, it is full, and 
that whether it hold a gill or a gallon. I had been un- 
happy enough before at the prospect of going away, 
but that unhappiness was nothing to the tide of wretch- 
edness, of disappointed love and impotent anger that 
swept over me. I think my first clear thought was 
that I would never let my uncle see that I was sorry 


56 


Loreday's History, 


to go away. So when the priest asked me 
again whether I would like to go to the convent I 
courtesied and said, in a voice which did not somehow 
seem to he my own: 

“ Yes, reverend father, I shall like it very much ! ” 

My uncle looked at me with a face of grieved sur- 
prise. 

“ Are you indeed so glad to leave us, niece ! •” said 
he. 

“ I am glad to go if you want me to go, uncle ! ” I 
answered, in the same hard voice. “ I don’t want to 
stay when you want to get rid of me, only — ” and 
here I broke down — “ only I wish they had buried me 
in the same grave with my father and mother, and 
then I should not be given away from one to another, 
like a poor fool or a dog that is in every one’s 
way! ” 

I do think I was the boldest, naughtiest child that 
ever lived, or I should not have dared to speak so to 
my elders. My uncle started from his chair as if 
something had stung him, and went hastily out of the 
room. The priest looked out of the window. My 
aunt laid her hand on my shoulder with that soft yet 
firm touch which always had a great effect in calming 
my tantrums, as old Madge used to call them, and 
whispered me to recollect myself and not anger my 
uncle. Presently Father Austin called me to him, 
and began in a gentle, fatherly way, to tell me how 
pleasant was the priory at Dartford, what a nice gar- 
den the ladies had, and what fine sweetmeats they 
made — talking as one like himself would naturally 
talk to a child. He was ever a kind soul, and glad I 
am that I have had it in my power to succor his rev- 


Another Change . 57 

erend age. But that is going a very long way before 
my tale. 

“ I trust the lady prioress will be kind to my 
niece,” said my Aunt Joyce. , 

“ I think you need have no fear on that score,” 
answered Father Austin ; “ though the little one is 
not like to have much to do with her. She will be 
under the care of the mistress of the novices, an ex- 
cellent woman, though I say it that should not, she 
being mine own sister, and you need have no fears for 
her well being.” 

Sambo now announced dinner, and my aunt led 
the way to the dining-room, where she had prepared 
quite a feast to do honor to our guest, and perhaps 
to put him in a good humor, though that was quite 
needless. I think the good man was the only one who 
enjoyed the collation, though my uncle strove to eat 
out of courtesy, and my aunt heaped my plate with 
delicacies which I could not touch. 

“ And now we must be stirring, for the days grow 
shorter than they were, and I would fain be at home 
before dark, though we travel in good company,” 
said the priest. “ There are two young ladies of the 
family of Sir James Brandon who travel down with 
us, and the knight will send a sufficient escort with 
them. So, if it please you, Mistress Holland, let the 
child be made ready as soon as may be.” 

“ Her packing is all done, and it remains but to 
say farewell,” said my aunt. “ My nephew hath also 
provided two serving men, one to ride before Love- 
day, and the other to drive down and bring back the 
sumpter mule.” 

“ Sumpter mule ! What is that about a sumpter 


58 


Loveday's History . 


mule ? ” asked Father Austin. “ Does my young mis- 
tress need a sumpter mule to carry her court dresses ? 
She will have small need of finery where she is going, 
.Mistress Holland.” 

“ A child of eight years has small need of finery 
any where, to my thinking,” answered Mistress Hol- 
land. “ I am not one that likes to see a young maid 
dizzened out. But my brother has prepared a present 
for the ladies.” 

“ But a web or two of Hollands and black Cyprus 
lawn, with some packets of spices, sugar, and the 
like,” said my uncle, carelessly. “ And since your 
reverence is pleased to like the white wine, I have or- 
dered a case to be put up for your own drinking. 
’Tjs a light and wholesome beverage.” 

“ Many thanks — many thanks ! ” said the monk. 
“ Some people might say you meant to secure a good 
reception for your niece — but, indeed, you need not 
fear for her,” he added, kindly. “ The house at Dart- 
ford is of good repute, and our prioress is a most ex- 
cellent lady, of the noble family of Percy. Most of our 
sisters are also gentlewomen of good family. I give 
you my word, Master Corbet, that Mistress Loveday 
shall havo every care, though I dare not promise her 
such feasts and luxuries as Mistress Holland provides.” 

“Luxuries are of little account to children, but 
kindness is every thing,” said my uncle. 

“And that, I promise you, she shall not lack,” an- 
swered the priest, seriously; then, turning to me : 
“ Come, daughter, ask your uncle’s blessing, and take 
leave of your cousins. Some day, perhaps, they .may 
come and see you, but it skills not lingering when 
parting must come at last.” 


Another Change . 59 

Mechanically, I kneeled to my uncle, who folded me 
in his arms. 

“ The blessing and prayers of an unworthy sinner 
go with thee, my poor child ! ” said he. “ Remem- 
ber, whatever happens, thou wilt ever have a home 
and a portion in thy uncle’s house.” 

“ She may need it yet, if things go on as they have 
begun,” muttered the priest. 

My cousins kissed me, and sobbed out their fare- 
wells as well as they could for weeping. I went out 
to the side door, where the priest’s sleek mule, and 
my uncle’s two men were waiting with their animals. 
My uncle kissed me again as he lifted me to my place 
behind Jacob Saunders, and whispered : 

“ I shall come to see thee soon, dear child. Try to 
be happy, and remember my house and heart are al- 
ways open when you need a home.” 

“ Why did you send me away, then ? ” I said bit- 
terly, more to myself than him. He heard me though, 
and answered, solemnly : 

“ Because I was a hasty fool, child. Pray for your 
poor uncle, and if you can, for your own sake, for- 
give him.” 

The priest now mounted his mule, and exchanged 
a courteous farewell with my uncle and aunt. 
The beasts were put in motion, we turned the 
corner, and in a moment I lost sight of the house 
where I had been so happy for four long months. It 
was many a year before I saw it again. So closed 
one chapter of my life. It always did seem to me 
that I left my childhood behind me at that moment. 

I have been the more particular in my account of 
of my days in London, as matters have so greatly 


60 


Loveday's History . 


changed since that time. The little almshouses where 
we used to go to carry milk to the poor bedesmen and 
women are all swept away, and the ground mostly 
built over. What became of the old people I know 
not, but Sir Thomas Audley came into possession of 
the land, which he afterward gave to Maudlin Col- 
lege at Cambridge. There is not a religious founda- 
tion of any kind left in London, and St. Anthony and 
his pigs are equally to seek. St. Paul’s hath been 
burned to the ground — by lightning, as was believed at 
the time and long after, till the sexton confessed on 
his death-bed that it was by his own fault — and is 
now in process of rebuilding. The city of London is 
almost twice as large as it was then ; many places 
which I knew as open fields being built up, and whole 
streets stretching out into the country. America, 
which at that time was not known to many people at 
all — I am sure I never heard of it till I came to Lon- 
don — is now visited by English ships every year, and 
merchandise brought from thence. It is a changed 
world, and on the whole much for the better, what- 
ever old folks may say. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A NEW LIFE. 

HEN we reached the Strand, we found the 
rest of our escort waiting for us before a 
handsome house which I had often seen in 
my walks. There were two or three stout fellows 
well armed, and a sober, somewhat vinegar-faced 
man, dressed like a steward or something of that 
sort. Two other men led palfreys caparisoned for 
women’s use. As we drew near and joined the group, 
the door opened and two ladies were led forth. They 
were closely veiled, yet I could see that one was 
young and handsome. As she was put upon her 
horse, she raised her veil for a moment and looked 
about with a wild, despairing glance, like that of 
some small, helpless, trapped animal, seeking a way of 
escape. In a moment the veil was dropped again, 
the other lady mounted her horse, and the whole 
cavalcade set forward as briskly as the state of the 
road would permit. 

The fresh, sharp, autumn air ; the quick movement, 
and the change of scene, roused me a little from the 
heavy stupor of grief and rage — I know not what else 
to call it — which had oppressed me, and I began to look 



62 


Loveday's History . 


about me. Father Austin seemed to note the change, 
and began gently to point out different objects of 
interest. He showed me the house where he himself 
was born and brought up — a comfortable old red 
brick hall, looking like the very home of peace and 
plenty in its ancient elm and nut trees, and began to 
tell me little tales of his boyhood, of his mother and 
sisters and his pet rabbits. At first I was conscious of 
nothing but a wish to be let alone, but almost in- 
sensibly I began to listen, to be interested, and asked 
little questions. The sharp, heavy distress was at my 
heart still, but as one suffering from the pain of a wound 
is yet willing to be a little diverted from his misery, 
albeit the pain is not lessened thereby, so I was not 
sorry to listen to the kind father’s tale. Presently we 
passed a building shut in by high walls, like a convent, 
and as the road wound close by the gate, we could 
hear within sounds of somewhat unbridled mirth and 
laughter. 

“ What house is that?” asked the steward, who 
rode close by us. 

“It was the house of Our Lord once,” said the 
father, dryly. “ Now it belongs to Master Crom- 
well.” 

The man bit his lip as if he had received some sort 
of check, and fell back a little. The house was, in 
fact, one of the many small convents which had fallen 
during the past few years. 

We stopped at a way-side inn for some refresh- 
ment, and one of the men brought me a glass of 
small ale, but I could not take it, and begged for a 
drink of pure water instead. My head ached, and I 
felt parched with thirst. The priest asked the buxom 


A New Life. 63 

hostess who brought me the water, if there were any 
news. 

“ Nothing your reverence, save that the foxes have 
caught and carried off two or three lambs, but 
’tis thought their den will be broken up before long.” 

I saw two or three of the men who were standing 
about wink at each other as if there were some jest 
concealed under the woman’s words. Father Austin 
answered her gently : 

“ There are many sorts of foxes, and other beasts 
also, which spoil the flocks, and the worst of all are 
wolves which come in sheep’s clothing : remember 
that, my daughter.” 

Young and distraught as I was, I could not but 
notice the difference between the treatment of the 
priest here, and that which he would have received 
in our neighborhood at Peckham Hall. There, 
whenever the abbot or Father Barnaby rode abroad, 
all bowed before them, as if they had been the pope 
himself, and even our own old fat, sleepy Sir John, 
was greeted with bared heads ; but here, such as we 
met contented themselves with a careless lifting of hat 
or cap for a moment, and many gave Father Austin 
no greeting at all. Others on the contrary were very 
forward in craving his blessing, even kissing the hem 
of his robe or the furniture of his mule. 

The two ladies rode along close together, but never, 
that I could see, exchanging a word. However, the 
elder did speak to the younger once or twice, but she 
got no answer save an impatient shake of the 
head. It was now drawing toward evening, and I 
well remember how the level rays of the setting sun 
shone through the orchards, making the ripening 


64 


Loveday's History. 


apples glow like balls of gold and fire among the 
dusky leaves. The sight recalled so clearly to my 
mind the orchards of my native West Country, 
that when we ascended a little rising ground, 
and the priest remarked that we should soon 
see home, I looked out, expecting for a moment to 
behold the gray battlements of Peckliam Hall. But 
no doubt my head was bewildered even then by the 
fever which was stealing over me. 

“ There, daughters, that is your future home,” said 
Father Austin, pointing downward, when we had at- 
tained the top of the little eminence. 

The younger lady uttered an exclamation of some 
sort, and turned her horse as though she would have 
fled, but her sister and the steward both at once laid 
their hands upon her bridle rein, and she made no 
further move. I roused myself from the sort of 
stupor that was bewildering me, and looked. I saw a 
large garden and orchard, surrounded by a high stone 
wall, having an embattled gateway. In the midst was 
a pile of old red brick buildings and a church. The 
little river Parent ran close by, and a stream seemed 
to be diverted from it to water the convent grounds. 
I could see the water sparkling in the sun. It was, I 
suppose, the hour of recreation ; for various black- 
veiled and white-veiled figures were walking in the 
orchard and garden, while even at this distance the 
fitful sound of music reached our ears. It was 
indeed a sweet and peaceful scene. 

“ That is Sister Cecilia practicing in the church ! 
We have the best pair of organs in all the country,” 
said Father Austin, with simple pride ; “ there is 
nothing like them in all London.” 


65 


A JStew Life. 

We now put our horses to a brisk pace, and passing 
through the gateway I have spoken of, we entered a 
sort of paved outer court, where the men dismounted, 
and we women folk were also taken from our 
horses. We were led through an inner gate which 
opened upon a long paved walk leading up through 
the orchard and garden to the house. I was growing 
more and more confused ; but I remember well all the 
sisters pausing to look at us, as was but natural, poor 
things, and my feeling an unreasoning anger against 
them for so doing. I have also a vivid impression of 
some bright flowers growing by the path. Two or 
three of the dark-robed group now came forward to 
meet us. 

“ Here are our new daughters,” said the priest, “ and 
tired enough they are, poor things. I fear the child is 
not well.” 

“Holy Yirgin ! I trust she hath not brought the 
sickness among us,” said one of the number, shrinking 
back. 

“ I dare say she is only weary with her journey,” 
said a kind voice, and one of the ladies took my hand 
to lead me into the house. “ Come with me, my 
child, and we will find some supper and a bed for 
these tired little bones.” 

I am conscious of hearing the words, but they 
sounded far and strange, as talk does in the very 
early morning, when one is half-asleep. I heard also 
an exclamation of surprise and pity, and then my 
senses failed me. The next I knew I found myself 
being undressed and put into bed, while my teeth chat- 
tered and every limb was shaking under the influence 
of a strong ague. 


66 Loveday's History. 

From that time, for several weeks, my recollections 
are mostly a blank. I remember begging for water, 
water, and loathing the apple-tea and gruel they 
brought me instead. I remember seeing people about 
me and hearing voices, but it is all dim and dream- 
like. At last, one day, I woke and saw Father Austin 
standing by my bed, with a lady so exactly like him, 
that if they had changed clothes no one would have 
known which was which. 

“ W ater ! ” I gasped. It was always my first 
word on waking. 

“ Do you think I might give her a little ? ” asked 
the lady. “ She does crave it so, poor little thing.” 

“ Yes, give her what she wants ; it will make no 
difference,” said the priest, sadly. He went away, and 
the lady brought me a small cup of cool, fresh water. 
I drained every drop and begged for more. 

“ You shall have more by and by, if this does not 
hurt you,” said the lady. “ Be a good child.” 

I dropped again into a doze. When I waked I was 
alone, and the jug, from which my nurse had poured 
the water, stood on a little table near by. An over- 
mastering desire took possession of me. I crept out 
of bed, and, steadying myself by the wall, I reached 
the jug, and though I could hardly lift it so as to get 
at its contents, I drained every drop. There must 
have been nearly a quart. Then getting back into 
bed, I fell asleep and slept soundly. I woke from a 
dream of my home before I went to Peckham Hall, 
and found that it was dark and the lady I had seen 
before was standing by me with a light in her hand. 
She bent down and put her hand on my forehead. 

“ The saints be praised, here is a blessed change,” 


6 ? 


A New Life. 

said she. “ The fever is wholly gone, and your skin 
is cool and moist. Do you feel better ? ” 

I made a motion of assent. Now that the fever 
had left me, I was as weak as an infant. 

“ Well, well. Perhaps the water did you good, 
after all. Do you want more ? ” 

I nodded. She took up the jug, and seemed sur- 
prised to find it empty, but asked no questions, and 
gave it to an attendant outside, who presently re- 
turned, and I had another delightful drink, but I 
was not so thirsty as before. 

“ Do you think you could eat something, my 
child ? ” asked my new friend. 

I assented eagerly, for I had begun to feel de- 
cidedly hungry. She again gave some orders to the 
person outside, who, by and by, brought I know not 
what delicate preparation of milk. I took all that was 
given me, and would gladly have had more. 

From that hour ray recovery was rapid, and I was 
soon able to walk about the room, which was a large 
one with several beds, and was, indeed, the infirmary 
for the pupils. Then I was allowed to walk in the 
gallery, and so, by degrees, I took my place in the 
family, and began to understand somewhat of its 
constitution and politics. 

Dartford nunnery was a place of no little conse- 
quence in my time, having some twenty professed 
nuns besides the prioress and other needful officers, 
such as sacristan, mother assistant and mistress of 
novices. It was a wealthy foundation, owning, besides 
its fair home domain, other wide fields and orchards 
which brought in a good revenue. Most, if not all 
of the sisters were ladies of family and breeding. 


68 


Loveday's History . 


The house had a good reputation for sanctity, and 
certainly there were no scandals in my time, or at 
least so I think, and I was always sufficiently sharp- 
sighted. 

When I was able to walk about and see my new 
home, which was not till cold weather, I had to con- 
fess that it was a fair one. The garden was very 
large and contained many fine fruit trees, apples, 
plums, and cherries, besides great grape vines and 
apricots, trained in curious fashion against the south 
wall. The house had been founded in 1371, and it 
was said, though I doubt it, that a part of the first 
fabric was still standing in my time. Any how some 
of the building was very old, and it had been added 
to as convenience dictated, till there was no regular- 
ity to it ; yet the material being the same throughout, 
and the walls much overgrown with ivy, there sub- 
sisted a certain harmony in the parts which was 
pleasing to the eye. The church was a fine one and 
contained some valuable relics, such as Mary Magda- 
lene’s girdle — she must have had a good many girdles 
in her time — a bottle containing some smoke from the 
Virgin’s fire, and a glass of St. Anne’s tears,* with 
others which I don’t now remember, all inclosed in rich 
reliquiaries and boxes, or highly ornamented shrines. 
They were exposed in the church on feast days for the 
adoration of the faithful. 

But the faithful were not so much disposed to adore 
as in times past. The leaven of incredulity was 
spreading among the poor, and the new Learning, as it 


* All these relics are authentic, and may be found in Leigh- 
ton’s list contained in his letters. 


6<J 


A New Life . 

was called, among the rich. It was understood that 
the king himself had his doubts about such matters ; 
he was at drawn daggers with the pope about his 
divorce ; the great cardinal was in disgrace and likely 
to lose all his preferments, and nobody knew what 
was likely to come next. 

But we young ones, shut in by the gray stone walls, 
were happily unconscious of the storms that raged 
without. Children are easily reconciled to any change 
that is not greatly for the worse, and I soon became 
as much at home as if I had always lived here. I 
must needs say that every one was kind to me, espe- 
cially so when I was recovering. I used to have terri- 
ble fits of homesickness, which were not lessened by 
the anger which still dwelt in my heart against my 
uncle. These usually ended in a fit of crying and 
that in a chill, so it is no wonder that Mother Joanna 
(that was the name of the Mistress of the Novices) 
had a dread of them. So, at the last, she took to set- 
ting me tasks and work, and finding that I had a talent 
for music, she put Sister Cicely upon giving me lessons 
upon the lute and in singing, which lessons have since 
been of great use to me. 

At my first recovery from my sickness, as I have said, 
my mind was almost a blank; but by and by my mem- 
ory came back and I began to recollect and compare 
things, and to ask questions. Mother Joanna liked 
me about her when she was busy. Her eyesight was 
not as good as it had been, and she found it conven- 
ient to have me thread her needles when she was sew- 
ing, and do other little offices for her. One day she was 
preparing some work for the children (for we had a day- 
school in a little house near the gate, where the girls 


^0 Loveday's History. 

from the village learned to sew and spin and to say 
their prayers) ; one day, I say, when we were thus en- 
gaged, I ventured to ask : 

“ Dear mother, did my uncle come to see me when 
I was sick ? ” 

“No, child, your uncle is gone abroad, as I under- 
stand, to Holland, about some matters of business — but 
your aunt sent to inquire for you twice.” 

“ Who came ? ” I inquired. 

“How do I know, child! You ask too many questions. 
It was an elderly serving-man with a scar on his face.” 

“ Joseph Saunders,” I said. “ Do you know if my 
aunt and cousins were well ? ” 

“ Yes, they are all well. I asked because I thought 
you would like to know.” 

“ Dear mother, you are very kind.” 

“Well, I mean to be kind, and so I am going to talk 
plainly to you, child. You must give up all notion 
of going back to your uncle’s house, for that will 
never be. My Lady Peckham has given you to this 
house — she having absolute control of you since Sir 
Edward’s death — ” 

“ Is Sir Edward dead ?” I asked, in dismay. 

“Yes, he died in Scotland. There, don’t cry, my 
dear ; I thought you knew it, or I would not have told 
you so suddenly. I know it is natural for you to 
grieve for him, but we must curb even natural affec- 
tions when they stand in the way of our duty.” 

But I could not help crying. Sir Edward had been 
uniformly kind to me, and I loved him dearly. The 
news of his death was a dreadful shock, and the end 
of it was that I had another ague and was sick for sev- 
eral days. When I got able to be about again, I was 


A New Life. 


71 


sent for to the prioress’s parlor. I had hitherto seen 
this lady, only at an awful distance, and, so far as I 
know, she had never spoken to me. She was a very 
great lady being some way, I know not how, akin to 
Bishop Gardner. 

By the rule of our constitution we were to elect a 
prioress every three years, but there was nothing to 
hinder the same person from being elected again 
and again, and Mother Paulina was such a Queen 
Log that I imagine nobody cared to get rid of her. 
She was an indolent, easy-going body, caring, I do 
think, more for her own ease and comfort than any 
thing else, and very little troubled as to how matters 
went in the house, so long as they did not come in her 
way. Like many such persons, however, she now and 
then took a fit of activity and authority, when she 
would go about the house interfering in every body’s 
business whether she knew any thing about the mat- 
ter in hand or not, giving contradictory orders and 
setting things generally at sixes and sevens. This 
happily accomplished, and her conscience discharged, 
she would relapse into her great chair and her indolence 
again, and leave matters to settle as they might. 
One of these fits was on her just now. She had been 
out in the garden in the morning, scolding the gar- 
dener about the management of the winter celery and 
the training of the apricots, of which she knew as 
much as she did of Hebrew. I saw her two attend- 
ant sisters fairly laughing behind her back. As for 
the gardener, he was a sober old Scotsman, who had 
come to this country in the train of some of the ban- 
ished Scots lords, and liked it too well to leave it. He 
understood his business, and his mistress, too. He 


72 


Loveday's History . 


would stand, cap in band, in an attitude of tbe deep- 
est humility, listening to bis lady’s lectures and throw- 
ing in a word now and then, as — “Na doot, madam ! 
Ye’ll liae tbe right o’t. I would say so ! ” Then he 
would go on his own course, precisely as if she had not 
spoken, and she, having said her say without contra- 
diction, would imagine she had had her own way. (It 
is not a bad way to deal with unreasonable people, as 
I have learned by experience.) 

I found the lady sitting in her great chair, beside a 
table on which was a crucifix of gold and ivory, a vase 
for holy water, and a box which I supposed to contain 
some holy relic. A handsome rug was before her 
chair, and she rested her feet on an embroidered 
hassock. According to the custom of the house, 
two sisters stood behind her. The younger sisters 
took this duty in rotation. 

“ So ! ” said she, when I had made my obeisance, 
“ you are the child who was sent hither by my Lady 
Peckham.” 

This in a severe tone, as if I had been much to 
blame for being such a child. 

“ And why did not you come hither at once^p 
instead of stopping four months in London, and 
putting me to all that trouble of looking over poor 
Sister Benedict’s things, and finding my lady’s 
letter.” 

To which I could only answer that I did not know. 
As if a little chit like myself would have any hand in 
her own disposal. 

“Well, now you are here, you must be content. 
Mother Joanna says you are homesick and make your- 
self ill by crying. That must be stopped. If I hear 


73 


A New Life . 

any more of it, I will try what virtue is in a birch 
twig to cure ague. I am afraid you are a naughty 
child, or your uncle would not have been in such a 
hurry to get rid of you.” 

How easy it is for idle or careless hands to gall a 
sore wound. Her words were like a stab to me, but I 
set my teeth and clenched my hands and made no sign. 

a But now you must understand, once for all,’ that I 
will have no more crying or homesickness ! ” pursued 
the lady, who was like a stone that once set a-going 
down hill rolls on by its own weight. 

“ You are in a good home and a holy house, where 
you may grow up without danger of being infected 
by the heresies, which, as we hear, are so rife in Lon- 
don. Your good mistress, Lady Peckliam, will give 
you a dowry when you are professed, and some time 
you may come to be prioress, and sit in this chair ; 
who knows?” concluded the lady, relapsing into an 
easy talking tone, having, I suppose, sustained her 
dignity as long as was convenient. “ So now be a 
good child, and here is a piece of candied angelica for 
you!” she added, taking the cover from what I had 
taken for a reliquary, “ and pray don’t let us have 
any more crying.” 

I took the sweetmeat with a courtesy, and after- 
ward gave it to one of the lay sisters, having no great 
fondness for such things. 

“And how did you leave my Lady Peckliam?” 
pursued the prioress ; then, without waiting for an an- 
swer : “We were girls at school together, though she 
was older than I — oh, yes, quite a good deal older, I 
should say. Let me see, she married twice, I think. 
What was her first husband’s name ? ” 


74 Zoveday’s History . 

“ Walter Corbet, madam ? ” I managed to say. I 
was feeling very queer by that time, being weak and 
unused to standing so long. The prioress was pur- 
suing her catechism, when I saw the two attendant 
sisters look at each other, and then one of them bent 
down as if to whisper in the lady’s ear. That was 
the last I did see or know till I woke, as it were, to 
find myself on the floor, with one of the sisters bath- 
ing my face with some strong waters, and the prior- 
ess fussing about, wringing her hands and calling on 
all the saints in the calendar. I felt very dreamy and 
strange, and, I fancy, lost myself again, for the next 
thing I heard was Mother Joanna’s voice, speaking in 
the tone which showed she was displeased. 

“ You kept her standing too long, that is all. No- 
body recovering from a fever should be kept stand- 
ing.” 

“ You don’t think she will die, do you, mother?” 
asked one of the sisters, I do believe out of sheer mis- 
chief. 

“ Holy Virgin! you don’t think so ? ” cried the prior- 
ess. “ Holy Saint Joseph ! what shall I do ? Send 
for Father Austin, somebody, quick! Bring her the 
holy Magdalene’s girdle, or the thumb of Saint Bar- 
tholomew. Holy Magdalene ! I will vow ” 

“ Reverend mother, please do be quiet ! ” inter- 
posed Mother Joanna, with very little ceremony. 
“ The child is not dying, if she be not scared to 
death by all this noise. Sister Priscilla, go and see 
that her bed is ready. Come, Loveday,” in her crisp, 
kindly tone, “ rouse yourself, child. Why, that is 
well ! ” as I opened my eyes — “ there, don’t try to 
sit up, but take what the sister is giving you, and we 


75 


A New Life . 

will soon have you better. Open the casement a 
moment. Sister Anne ; the room is stifling.” 

“ Really, sister ! ” said the prioress, in an injured 
tone, “ I think you should remember that you are in 
my apartment, before you take such a liberty. The 
child will do well enough, I dare say. It is more than 
half pretense to get herself noticed, and I believe 
might be whipped out of her, ” she pursued, for hav- 
ing a little gotten over her fright, she was beginning 
to be angry with the cause of it. Mother Joanna 
treated the reproof and the suggestion with equally 
little ceremony, and gathering me up in her strong 
arms, she bore me off to my bed in the dormitory, and 
went to bring me some soup. I was quite myself in a 
few hours, and from that time my health improved so 
that I was soon as well as I had ever been in my life. 
Every one was kind to me, as I have said. I went to 
work with great zeal at my lessons in music and needle- 
work, both of which I loved. One day I was hold- 
ing some silk for Sister Denys. She was the novice 
who had entered the house at the same time as my- 
self, and had taken the white veil while I was ill. 
She was very young, and, but for her unvarying ex- 
pression of listless sadness, would have been very 
pretty ; but she moved more like a machine, than a 
living creature, never spoke if she could help it, and 
faded day by day, like a waning moon. I more than 
once saw Mother Joanna shake her head sadly as she 
looked at the poor thing. 

Well, as I said, I was holding some thread for her, 
when somehow, I don’t know how it happened, I 
made use of a Latin phrase. I saw that she started, 
and her eyes brightened. 


76 Loveday's History . 

“ Do you know Latin, child — I mean, so as to un- 
derstand it ? ” 

I was as much surprised as if the image of Mary 
Magdalene in the chapel had spoken to me, but I 
made haste to answer — 

“Yes, Sister Denys ; I have learned it for two or 
three years. And I have read through the ‘ Orbis 
Sensualium Pictus,’ * and some of Cornelius Nepos, 
and I have read a part of St. Matthew his Gospel 
in the Vulgate” — (so I had, with my uncle). “ I wish 
I had lessons here,” I added, regretfully. “ I 
have forgot so much since I had the fever, and I love 
my Latin, because I used to read it with Walter.” 

“Who was Walter — your brother?” 

“ No, sister ; my cousin,” and then, in answer to 
her questions, I began, nothing loth, to tell her of my 
home in Somersetshire. Presently she dropped the 
silk, and I saw she was weeping bitterly. 

“ Never mind, little maiden — you have done me 
good,” she said at last, as I stood by her side, dis- 
mayed at her sorrow, yet feeling by instinct that it 
was better to let her have her cry out, without calling 
any one. She made a great effort to check her sobs, 
and presently, kissing me, she added : 

“ I know Latin, and I will teach you, if the mother 
is willing.” 

“ I am sure she will be willing ! ” I answered. “ She 
said herself it was a pity I should lose what I had 
gained.” And the mother passing at the moment, I 
preferred my petition to her. I think she was un- 
feignedly pleased to see poor Sister Denys interested 

*1 am not sure that I have not antedated this wonderful 
schoolbook . 


n 


A New Life . 

in any thing. She did not go through the usual form 
of referring to the prioress, as indeed, she was not 
obliged to do, she having the whole care of the 
novices and pupils, but bade me fetch my books, 
which had been sent me from London, and take a les- 
son on the spot. 

For a while these lessons went on very prosperously. 
Sister Denys was a good Latin scholar, and finding 
that I was diligent, reasonably quick, and liked learn- 
ing for its own sake, she began also to teach me 
French. All that winter I studied hard, and between 
Sister Denys, Sister Cicely, with her music lessons, 
and Sister Theresa, with her embroidery, I had my 
hands full. I did no more work than was good for 
me, and had plenty of play and sleep, and, on the 
whole, I was very well, content with my new home, 
though I used, now and then, to have fits of long- 
ing after my Aunt Joyce and my cousins. 

One day in spring, I was called to the parlor. Sup- 
posing I was wanted to do some errand — I was errand- 
boy, or rather girl, for the establishment — I went care- 
lessly enough. The prioress was there, with her attend- 
ant sisters and mother assistant, and as I came forward 
to the wide grating that divided the room, I found 
myself face to face with my aunt and cousins. 

What a meeting it wa3 ! Aunt Joyce had grown 
older and looked careworn, and the twins were a head 
taller, but that was all the change. The mother as- 
sistant whispered to the prioress, who assented. 

“ There, you may go outside the grating and speak 
to your aunt and cousins, child !” said she. “You 
are not professed ; so it can do no harm.” 

In another minute I was in my aunt’s arms, 


78 


Loveday's History. 


smothered with kisses, and turning from one to 
the other in a very bewilderment of joy. I could 
not help hoping for a moment that they had come 
to take me away, but my hopes were quickly dashed. 
They had come on another errand, namely, to bid 
me a long farewell. My uncle had been back and 
forth between London and Antwerp several times, 
but now he had removed his business wholly to 
that city, and determined to settle there for the 
rest of his life. There was a great deal of com- 
merce between Antwerp and London at that time, 
and more things were brought over in the way of 
merchandise than passed the customs. 

Again the mother assistant whispered the prioress, 
and then addressed herself to me. 

“Loveday, you may take your aunt and cousins to 
see the church and the garden and orchard. I am sure 
they will take no undue advantage.” 

“ Surely not, reverend mother ! ” said my aunt, with 
a deep reverence. “ It will be a great pleasure to me to 
see my niece’s future home. Joseph Saunders is wait- 
ing without with a present for the house, and I have 
ventured to take the liberty of bringing down our cat, 
if the ladies are fond of such pets. He is a fine crea- 
ture and somewhat uncommon.” 

“I saw in a moment that mother assistant was 
gratified. She loved pet animals, and indeed, that 
was about the only indulgence she ever permitted her- 
self. 

“ A cat — oh, yes. Mother assistant will be de- 
lighted, I am sure ! ” said the prioress, rather peevishly. 
“ She loves a cat better than a Christian, any day.” 

" And my nephew hath sent a case or two of for- 


79 


A New Life . 

eign sweetmeats and some Basle gingerbread,”* con- 
tinued my aunt, without noticing this not very digni- 
fied outburst — “ with some loaves of sugar and a 
packet of spices. He hopes my lady prioress will con- 
descend to accept them as a token of gratitude for 
her kindness to his niece.” 

“ Certainly — certainly, and with thanks ! ” answered 
the prioress, with alacrity. “ Tell him he shall have 
our prayers for his journey. I am sure he cannot be 
inclined to heresy as they say, or he would never send 
such nice presents to our house.” 

“ There, go child, and show your cousins the garden 
and the orchard ! ” said the mother assistant, inter- 
posing rather more hastily than was consistent with 
good discipline. “ I will come presently and make 
acquaintance with this wonderful cat.” 

I was not slow in availing myself of the permission. 
As I stopped to shut the door, whereof the lock was 
out of order, I heard the prioress say, in an aggrieved 
tone, “ Really, sister — ” and I knew she was, as usual, 
asserting her dignity, and defending her authority, 
which took a good deal of defending, certainly. 

I drew my aunt and cousins out to the gate, and we 
quickly released Turk from his imprisonment. He 
was hugely indignant at first, but finding himself 
among friends, and being invited to partake of re- 
freshment, he very soon smoothed his ruffled plumes, 
and before long was entirely at home. 

“ We could not well take him with us, and my un- 
cle thought you would like to have him,” said my 

* Basle then, as now, was famous for its gingerbread, which 
is, in fact, a rich and spicy kind of iced plum cake— made to 
keep long . 


80 


Loveday's History . 

aunt. “ But let us look at you, child. How well you 
look, and how you have grown. You are happy here, 
are you not ? ” 

“ Yes, aunt ! ” said I, indifferently. “If I cannot he 
with you and my cousins, I might as well he here. 
They are all kind. But oh, aunt, why does my uncle 
go away so far — and to a strange country, too ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you, dear child. He has good reasons, 
or he would never do so. You may guess it is hard, 
in my old age, to he transplanted to a foreign soil, and 
have to learn new ways and new tongues ; but God 
knows best. His will he done.” 

“ There are a great many English in Antwerp, my 
father says ! ” observed Katherine. 

“ Yes, that is true, and some that we know — at least, 
that your father knows.” 

“And my father says his house is a fine one — 
even finer than ours in London,” said Avice ; “ but I 
know I shall never like it as well.” 

“ But tell me all about it ! ” said I. “ Is Sambo 
going ? ” 

“Yes, and Anne the launder, and Joseph Saunders, 
but no one else. Master Davis, the silk mercer, hath 
hired our house, and he loves flowers as well as my 
father, so the garden will be cared for.” 

“I should not think Joseph would go — he is so 
old ! ” 

“ He hath been there with my nephew and knows 
the ways and the language ; so he will be a help in 
getting settled ! ” said Aunt Joyce, who seemed to 
feel the change far more than the girls, as was indeed 
natural. “ But, after all, life is short, and Paradise is 
as near to Antwerp as to London. That is the great 


A JSTew Life. 


81 


comfort. But Loveday, now that we are alone to- 
gether, I must give you your uncle’s charge and his 
letter.” 

The letter was short, but earnest. My uncle bade 
me make myself contented so far as I could, but he 
charged me to remember that I was not to be pro- 
fessed till I was twenty-one. “ Should any thing hap- 
pen to make you need a home — as is not impossible, if 
I read the signs of the times aright,” so the letter pro- 
ceeded, “ do you go to my old friend, Master Davis, 
the silk mercer, who will always know where I am, 
and how to send to me. His wife is a good woman, 
and they will gladly give you a home.” My uncle 
concluded by once more asking my forgiveness for 
his hasty action, and most solemnly gave me his bless- 
ing. My aunt bade me give her back the letter, and 
I did so, however reluctantly, knowing that it would 
not be well to have it found with me. In a convent 
nothing is one’s own, and one is all the time watched. 

When we had seen the garden and orchard, the 
church and such other parts of the domain as it was 
proper to show to strangers, we were called into the 
refectory where an elegant little repast was provided, 
of which I was allowed to partake with them. The 
time for parting came all too soon, for the ride to town 
was not a short one, and though the days were now 
at the longest, the party could not more than reach 
home before dark. I will not dwell on that sorrow- 
ful parting. Mother Joanna led me away, and when 
I had wept awhile she began to quiet me. She said 
what was true, that I had been greatly indulged in 
being allowed such free intercourse with my friends, 
and that I must show my gratitude by striving to re- 


8 2 


Lov eddy's History . 


strain my grief so as not to make myself ill. She said a 
good deal, too, in her sweet, gentle way, of submitting 
our wills to the will of Heaven, because that will is 
sure to be best for us, since our heavenly Father see- 
ing the end from the beginning, and having, as it were, 
our whole lives spread out before him, can judge far 
better than we can. (I began to observe, about this 
time, that while the prioress and the other ladies in- 
voked saints by the gross on all occasions, the mother 
assistant and Mother Joanna rarely or never did 
so.) The dear mother understood me well. I saw 
the reasonableness of what she urged, and made a 
great effort to control my feelings, and though my 
pillow was wet with tears for that, and more than 
one night afterward, I took care that my grief should 
be troublesome to no one. 

It was not long after my aunt’s visit that another 
friend was taken, who proved a great loss to me, and 
that was Sister Denys. She had gradually improved 
in health, and I believe the interest she took in my 
lessons was a great benefit to her ; but I do not think 
she became a whit more reconciled to her way of life. 
She used to remind me of a vixen * Walter had, which, 
though tame enough to know and love her keeper, 
and eat out of his hand, did yet never give up trying 
to escape from her captivity. I remember old Ralph 
saying that if the creature did once really give up the 
hope of getting away, she would die. Sister Denys 
was like that vixen, I think — the hope of escape kept 
her alive. About this time, she began greatly to 
frequent a little chapel of our patron saint built in 

* All my readers may not know that Vixen is the proper 
name of a female fox. 


A New Life. 


83 


our orchard, and more than once I had seen her talk- 
ing with an old man, a great, awkward, shambling 
creature Avith one eye, whom old Adam, our Scotch 
gardener, had hired to assist him. I wondered what 
she wanted Avith him, but I had learned by that time 
enough of convent politics to see much and say noth- 
ing. One fine morning, Sister Denys and the old lame 
gardener were both missing, and when I ventured to 
ask what had become of them, I was told that Sister 
Denys had gone to another house to be professed, 
and that the gardener had been dismissed. Young as 
I was, a kind of inkling of the truth came over 
me, but I did not knoAV the whole of it till long and 
long after that time. Of course there was not a word 
of truth in the story, but almost any thing is allowable 
to save scandal, as the phrase is, and a pretty big fib 
told in the interest of the church is, at worst, a venial 


sm. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE THUNDER STRIKES. 

DO not j>ropose to go very minutely into the 
details of my convent life. I remained at 
Dartford for several years, fairly content 
for the most part, though I now and then had a 
great desire after more freedom. I wearied of the 
trim grass ]^ots, the orderly garden, and the orchard 
shut in from the rest of the world by high walls, and 
longed to find myself in the open fields, with no 
visible bound to my footsteps. I remembered mine 
uncle’s house in London, and wished myself back 
there, or with the family in their new home. For a 
time after their removal to Antwerp, I heard from 
the family. At least twice a year, a packet came with 
letters for me, and some valuable present for the 
house, of spice, or comfits, or wonderful lace, such as 
they know how to make in those parts. But after a 
time these packets stojiped coming, and for many a 
year I had no news of these dear ones at all. 

I had one visit from my Lady Peckham during this 
time. She came to London on some business about 
her husband’s estate, which could not be easily set- 
tled, as there was no absolute proof that Randall 



The Thunder Strides. 


85 


was dead. The next heir was a distant relation of 
Sir Edward’s, who lived near London. But this gen- 
tleman w^as an easy-going sort of person I fancy, or 
perhaps he did not care about burying himself in 
that wild part of Somersetshire. Any how, he agreed, 
in consideration of a certain share of the rents of 
the estate, to let Lady Peckham live in the house as 
long as she pleased. She had brought Sir Edward a 
good fortune, which was settled wholly on herself, so 
she was very well-to-do. It seemed to me that she 
had altered very little. She had accepted the mantle 
and veil, and made the vow of perpetual widowhood, 
and so might be looked upon as, in some sort , a rel- 
igious person as the phrase went in those times. She 
staid with us a month or more, and was, or professed 
to be, very much edified, though I think she was 
rather scandalized at the easiness of our rule, which 
was, indeed, very different from the discipline which 
used to be enforced at the house to which I had 
been first destined at Bridgewater. I do not mean 
to say that there was any disorder — far from it : but 
things went on in a comfortable, business-like fashion. 
There were so many services to be gone through, and 
they were gone through with all due gravity and de- 
corum. We had beautiful singing, which people 
came from far and near to hear. We kept our fast 
days strictly enough as regards the eating of flesh 
meat, but our own stews gave us abundance of fish, 
and our orchard and garden supplied fruit and vege- 
tables, so that we certainly did not suffer from our 
abstinence. 

However, I suppose my lady must have been well 
pleased on the whole, for she tried very hard to make 


86 


Loveday's History. 


me consent to take the white or novice’s veil. This, 
however, I would not do, pleading my solemn promise 
to Sir Edward and my uncle Gabriel. My lady de- 
clared that such promises made by a child amounted 
to nothing, and appealed to Father Austin. I don’t 
know what he said to her, but it must have been 
something conclusive, since she said no more to me 
on the matter. 

I ventured to ask about my old friend and play- 
mate, Walter Corbet. She told me that he was still 
with Sir John Lambert, at Bridgewater, assisting in 
the care of the parish, but that he had some prospect 
of a new field of his own in Devon, not far from 
my old home. “ ’ Tis a wild and lonely place, and 
almost a savage people, so I am told,” said my lady. 
“But Walter seems to think the prospect of burying 
himself among them a delightful one. Oh, if he 
would but have taken the vows at Glastonbury, he 
might come to be abbot in time, instead of living 
and dying in the gray walls of Ashcomb vicarage.” 

But those same gray walls are still whole and warm, 
while Glastonbury is but a stately ruin, wasted by all 
the airs that blow freely through its deserted halls. 
This, by the way. 

My lady left us, as I have said, at the end of a 
month, to return to Peckham Hall, though at her first 
coming she had talked of spending the remainder of 
her days among us. But I think she was wise. Such 
a life as ours would not have suited her at all. She 
liked to rule wherever she was, and had been used 
many years to almost absolute authority, for Sir Ed- 
ward rarely interfered in any matter which concerned 
the household ; and she was too old and too set to 


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87 


learn new ways. From something I overheard, I 
don’t think mother assistant favored the notion. I 
have heard her say myself that a nun ought to be 
professed before she is twenty. I never saw my lady 
again, though I heard from her now and then. 

Mother assistant was now the real head and ruler 
of the house, for the prioress grew more and more 
indolent every day. She excused herself on the score 
of her health, though I cannot but think she would 
have been well enough if she had taken more exercise 
and eaten fewer sweetmeats. She could not have had 
a better deputy than the mother assistant, who was 
an excellent woman and well fitted to rule a house- 
hold. I never saw a woman of a more even temper, 
and she had that precious faculty of making every 
one do her best in her own place. Mother Joanne 
continued mistress of the novices, though her task 
was a light one, for we had very few accessions ; our 
elections were regularly gone through with, but they 
were no more than a form, since the very same officers 
were elected over and over, save when some one died. 
Sister Sacristine, who was only a middle-aged woman 
when I came to Dartford, was growing old and feeble. 
Two new bursars had been elected. The trees had 
grown older, and the old Scotch gardener more opin- 
ionated. Sister Cicely’s hands grew too stiff to man- 
age the organ at times, and I often took her place, 
and acquitted myself to the satisfaction of my hear- 
ers ; and these are about all the changes I remember, 
till the great change of all. I have said our lives 
were very quiet, and so they were. But when a storm 
is raging, it is hard to keep all knowledge or sign of 
it out of the house. We heard, now and again, ru- 


88 


Lov edccy's History. 


mors of the changes that were going on outside. I 
remember well when Sister Emma, the stewardess, 
heard from Dame Hurst, who now and then brought 
oysters and other sea-fish for sale, that a great English 
Bible had been chained to a pillar in the parish church 
at Dartford ; where any one who listed could go and 
hear it read, or read it for themselves, if they pleased. 
Sister Emma told us this wonderful piece of news 
when we were all assembled under the grape-arbor, 
shelling of peas for our fast-day mess. 

It was received with a degree of horror and 
amazement, which seems strange as I remember it, 
now that every householder who can afford it may 
have a Bible of his own. 

“ What an indignity ! ” exclaimed Sister Agnes. 
“To think that the Holy Scripture should be chained 
to a pillar, like a man in a pillory, to be thumbed over 
by every village clown or dirty fisherman who can make 
shift to spell out a few words.” 

“ You would not compare a pillar in the house of 
our Lord to a pillory, would you, sister?” asked 
mother assistant, with that gentle smile of ridicule 
which I, for one, dreaded more than the rod, when I 
had been naughty. 

“ Why, no, reverend mother, not exactly,” answered 
Sister Agnes, in some confusion. 

“ Any how, it is not the true Word of God, but only 
the heretics’ translation,” said Sister Margaret, 
sharply. “ So it does not matter what is done with 
it.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” remarked another sister, 
rather timidly. “I suppose it could not be put in the 
churches every where, without the consent of the 


The Thunder Strikes. 


89 


bishops and the other clergy ; and they would not 
allow an heretical and false translation in such a place, 
surely. Only it is a pity the poor people should be 
allowed to peril their souls’ salvation by reading the 
Scriptures in the vulgar tongue.” 

Even then, I remember, it struck me as curious, that 
people’s salvation should be endangered by reading 
the Word of God, but I said nothing. 

“ They will never put any such thing in my 
church — chained or unchained — that I know,” said 
Sister Sacristine, with great emphasis, and in her 
earnestness emptying the peas in her lap among the 
cods in the basket. “ I would tear up the book 
with my own hands, before such things should be al- 
lowed near to the shrine of the Holy Magdalene. 
Thank the saints, we are not subject either to bishop 
or archbishop, but to our own visitor, and I am very 
sure he would never order such a thing.” 

“In that case, it is hardly worth while to waste 
one’s breath discussing the matter,” said mother as- 
sistant. “ Loveday, you had better pick up the peas 
that Sister Sacristine has scattered. It is a pity they 
should be wasted.” 

“ There is no telling what will happen — no telling.” 
said a very old sister, who was warming herself in the 
sun. “ I have strange visions — I do. I saw last night 
the walls of the fold pulled down, and the sheep scat- 
tered far and wide. But I hope it won’t come in my 
time. I have lived here in these very walls almost 
eighty years, and I don’t want to live any where else.” 

“No, there is no telling, and therefore we may dis- 
miss the subject,” said mother assistant. “ When 
they come to ask us to chain a Bible in our church, it 


90 


Loveday's History . 

will be time for us to refuse it. ‘ Each day’s trouble 
is sufficient for the same selfe day.’” 

The striking of the bell warned us of the end of 
recreation, and sent us about our several tasks ; but 
the mother’s words lingered in my ears, and I found 
myself wondering again and again where I had heard 
them before. At last I remembered ; I had read them 
in my uncle’s great book — Master Tyndale’s book of 
the New Testament, as I afterward knew it to be— on 
the very first day that I came to London. . 

Well, the days went on, and though we heard rumors 
of this and that — of the disgrace of poor Queen 
Katherine (which I do maintain was an infamous 
shame), and the marriage of the King with Anne 
Boleyn, mother of our present good Queen— of the burn- 
ing of heretics here and there, and the king’s taking 
church matters more and more into his own hands — 
though, as I say, we heard rumors of all these things, 
they did not greatly disturb our peace. Our gray, 
circling walls were like the magic circle of the en- 
chanter, and though strange and malign shapes were 
seen in very active exercise outside its bounds, yet 
none had as yet broken through. But our time was 
to come. 

It was on a pleasant day in the end of September, 
in the year of grace 1538, that the first blow fell upon 
us. By the same token we had, on that very day, 
buried old Turk in the garden under a beautiful lay- 
lock tree. The poor old cat had been very decrepit 
for a long time, having lost most of his teeth, so that 
he had to be fed with hashed meat, and bread soaked 
in cream. Old Adam had said more than once that 
the poor thing would be better put out of his pain, 


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91 


but I don’t believe you could have hired him to do the 
deed — no, not with a Dutch tulip-root. Well, it was 
on that very day that, coming in from the orchard 
with a basket of early apples, I saw Father Austin 
walking up the paved path, which led from his house 
to the church, with such a perturbed face as I never 
saw him wear before. He passed through the church, 
and presently the whole family were called together 
in a great hall which joined the church, and was 
called — I don’t know why — the chapter-room. It was 
the room in which our elections were held, and was 
seldom or never used on other occasions. There we 
were, old and young, all standing according to our 
degree, and some of us looking scared enough, for 
rumor flies fast, and we all had an idea that something 
dreadful was going to happen. The prioress sat in 
her great chair, with her attendant sisters behind her, 
and looked about with a dazed, helpless expression. 
She had grown very stout and unwieldy, and some of 
us thought she was not quite right in her mind. The 
elders of the house were at her right hand, and near 
by stood Father Austin and another priest, with a 
thin, clever, crafty face, whom we knew to be Bishop 
Gardiner’s chaplain, and a person of great considera- 
tion. I always had a dislike to this man ; chiefly be- 
cause the shape of his head — very flat behind, and 
with prominent angles at the jaw-bones — reminded 
me of a viper. I could not help thinking at that mo- 
ment that he watched the prioress as a viper might 
watch a fat frog on which he had a design. 

When we were all settled, Father Austin raised his 
hand, and spoke: “My mothers and sisters, your rev- 
rend prioress has called you together to hear a most 


92 


Loveday's History . 


important message which our visitor has sent us by 
his chaplain, Father Simon, who will now deliver the 
same. 

With that he was silent, and Father Simon spoke. 
I cannot remember his words, but the gist of the mat- 
ter was this: The king had wholly broken off with the 
pope, and, by consent of the parliament, had pro- 
claimed himself supreme head of the English Church. 
All bishops, heads of religious houses, and certain 
other officers were required to take the oath of 
supremacy, as it was called, under severe penalties — 
even that of death — as was like to be the case with 
the Bishop of Rochester, who was now in prison and 
threatened with the loss of his head. (He really did 
come to the scaffold soon after.) It was probable that 
commissioners would shortly be sent to our house to 
administer this oath, and Bishop Gardiner — who, 
though not our bishop, was our regular visitor by some 
ecclesiastical arrangement which I never understood — 
had himself taken this oath, and advised us to submit 
to the same, as a necessity of the times. 

I was watching the prioress’s face during tiffs ha- 
rangue, which was delivered in a very gentle and in- 
sinuating manner. (My ey.es should have been on the 
ground, but they have always had an unlucky trick of 
wandering.) I say, mine eyes should have been on 
the ground, but they were watching our mother’s face 
instead, and I was surprised to see the change that 
came over it, as the words and meaning of the father’s 
address penetrated her understanding. Usually her 
visage had about as much expression as a slack-baked 
pie, and was nearly the same color. By degrees, as 
she understood the matter, her dull eyes opened wide, 


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93 


and grew bright and clear, lier loose under-lip was com- 
pressed, and a little color came into her cheeks. When 
the chaplain was silent, she spoke, and with such a 
clear voice and so much dignity of manner that the 
sisters glanced at each other in surprise. 

“I am somewhat slow of comprehension, good 
father. I pray you bear with me if my questions 
seem not to the purpose. What is it that the king 
hath declared himself ? ” 

The chaplain once more explained that the king 
now called himself supreme head of the church. 

“But the pope — our Holy Father at Rome — is su- 
preme head of the church in all Christendom ! ” said 
the prioress. “ How, then, can that title belong to His 
Grace, the King of England ? There cannot be two 
supreme heads.” 

I saw the chaplain cast a keen glance of satirical 
amusement at Father Austin before he proceeded to 
explain once more that the king, having quarreled 
with the pope, in the matter of his wife’s divorce and 
some other things, utterly denied him any authority 
or jurisdiction over the realm of England or its de- 
pendencies, and required all persons to submit to him, 
as formerly to the pope.” 

“ But he is not the head, so what difference does it 
make w T hat he calls himself?” persisted the prioress. 
“And how can the bishop, who is himself sworn to 
obey the pope in all things, obey the king when the 
king is opjmsed to him.” 

“ l am not here to explain or justify the conduct of 
your venerable visitor, reverend mother ! ” said the 
chaplain, rather arrogantly ; “ but only to convey you 
his counsels and commands. The further continuance 


Lovcday's History. 

of this holy community — nay, your own life — may 
depend on your obedience. You would not like to be 
put in prison, like the Bishop of Rochester ! ” Know- 
ing the mother’s love of ease, I suppose he thought 
this a knock-down argument, but he was mistaken. 
One may know a person very well, and yet not be 
be able to foretell what that person will do in an 
emergency. 

“ I should not like it at all ! ” said the prioress. “ It 
would be very uncomfortable to lie upon straw and 
have nothing but bread and water, and cold water 
always makes me ill. But I do not see how that 
makes any difference about the pope being head of 
the church, and if he is supreme head, then the king 
cannot be. That is all about it.” 

With that the chaplain took on a higher tone, and 
began to bluster a little. Would she, a mere woman, 
pretend to sit in judgment not only on a bishop and 
her visitor, but also on the king himself? Was it 
not her duty as a religious to have no mind of her 
own, but only to do as she was told ? ” 

“ You did not think so, reverend father, when the 
question was of placing an English Bible in the 
church for the sisters to read when they pleased ! ” 
said the prioress. “ That was the king’s will, too, as 
I understand, and yet both our visitor and yourself 
said I was right in refusing, because ours was not a 
£>arish church. And the very Bible that was sent 
down lies locked up in the press in the sacristy. Does 
it not, mother assistant ? ” 

“ It was there at one time, but I have had it re- 
moved to a safer place ! ” answered the mother as- 
sistant, quietly. I saw the sisters exchange glances 


The Thunder Strikes. 


95 


of amazement from under tlieir down-dropped lids. 
This was the first time we had heard of any such 
book. But that is the way in a convent. A measure 
which affects your very life may be settled, and you 
be none the wiser. 

“ Very well, reverend mother, I shall say no more 
at this time ! ” said the chaplain, after a moment’s 
pause. “ I will report to your reverend visitor that 
you have decided to take matters into your own 
hands, and that being the case, he will doubtless leave 
this house and its inhabitants to their fate — that fate 
which has already overtaken so many religious com- 
munities. When the commissioners come down and 
you see your revenues confiscated and your daughters 
turned out, and the beautiful shrine of the Holy 
Magdalene stripped of all its ornaments and treasures, 
I hope you will be satisfied with your contumacy.” 

“ I shall not be satisfied at all, and I don’t want my 
daughters turned out ! ” said the prioress. “And I am 
not contumacious, either. I have always done just 
as our visitor directed about every thing, and you 
know I have, Father Simon ; only I can't see how 
the king can be supreme head of the church, when 
the pope is the head ! I would lay down my life for 
this house ! ” she added, raising herself from her 
chair and standing erect with a dignity that might 
have belonged to St. Katherine of Egypt, or any 
other sainted queen. “ I would be torn by wild 
beasts before my dear, dutiful children should be 
turned out upon the world ; but I can not deny 
the authority of our Holy Father the Pope, and 
put another in his place, without greater and bet- 
ter reason than I see now, and so with my humble 


96 XiOvedaxfs History. 

duty anci reverence, you may tell his reverence, Sir 
Chaplain.” 

We looked at each other without disguise now, so 
great was our amazement. If the figure of the Holy 
Virgin in the Lady Chapel had spoken, we should not 
have been more surprised. But we had not long to 
indulge our wonder. I saw the mother assistant 
move nearer to the prioress, and in another instant 
the poor lady had sunk down in her chair in a fit. 

The room was all in confusion for a moment; but 
nuns, like soldiers, feel the power of habitual disci- 
pline, and in a minute or two mother assistant had re- 
stored order. She and the sick-nurse were support- 
ing the prioress, and she called me to help her, as I 
was one of the strongest of the family, bidding the 
others betake themselves to the work-rooms, where 
was their place at this hour. 

We carried the lady to her own room, with the help 
of the two priests — we could hardly have done it 
without them, she was so heavy — and Father Aus- 
tin, who was surgeon as well as priest, proceeded to 
bleed her. The blood would hardly flow at first, but 
at last it did, and the treatment was so far successful, 
that the mother opened her eyes, and swallowed the 
restorative which was put into her mouth, though she 
did not try to speak, and seemed to know no one. We 
undressed her, and got her into bed, and then mother as- 
sistant dismissed me, bidding me go and take the air a 
little for that I looked pale. Indeed I had had much 
ado to keep from fainting, as I had never seen any 
person bled before, but I summoned all my resolu- 
tion, and held out. 

I went to the work-room where all the sisters 


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97 


were assembled round the frames, on which the 
new hangings were being worked for the Lady 
Chapel. We were permitted so much converse as 
was actually needful, at such times, and not uncom- 
monly the liberty was stretched a little, foi, as X said 
before, the discipline of our house was not over strict; 
but I never heard such a gabble as was now going on. 
As I entered and went to the press to find my own 
particular bit of work (which was a piece of needle 
lace on a small frame), intending to take it out into the 
summer-house, I was assailed by a volley of questions. 

“ How is the reverend mother?” “Hath she 
spoken? ” “ Will she die ? ” “Will she live? ” “Will she 
take the oath?” “Where is the mother assistant, and 
Mother Joanna ? ” It vexed me to see them ail so ready 
to take advantage of their elder’s absence, and I an- 
swered, rather sharply, I fear. 

“ How many more ? The mother is better, but she 
has not spoken, and no one knows whether she will 
live or die — much more whether she will take the oath. 
As to mother assistant, and Mother J oanna, it is very 
plain that wherever they are, they are not here. One 
could tell that half a mile off. ” 

Some of the sisters looked ashamed, but Sister 
Perpetua answered me sharply; 

“You are very pert, Sister Postulant.” ( That had 
been my rank for a good while now, for I had no 
other thought than to end my days at St. Magda- 
lene’s.) “It does not become you to reprove and 
check your elders.” 

“ It does not become her elders to give cause of re- 
proof ! ” said Sister Bridget, a quiet, retiring woman, 
the elder of the party ; “ The child is right, and we 


98 Loveday's History. 

have been to blame. As the oldest present, I must 
request you, sisters, to be ‘quiet and attend to your 
work.” 

“You are not the oldest present,” answered Sis- 
ter Perpetua. “ Sister Anne is older than you.” 

“No, indeed, I am not!” said Sister Anne, with 
some sharpness. “ Sister Bridget is fully half a dozen 
years older than I am, are you not, sister ? ” 

“ More than that, I should say,” replied Sister Brid- 
get, tranquilly. (N. B. She was very pretty and young 
looking, while Sister Anne was both plain and wrink- 
led) : But you know as well as I, sister, that it is not 
age, but standing in the house, that settles such mat- 
ters. Again, as the oldest present, I must request you, 
sisters, to pursue your work in silence. Prayers and 
psalms and holy meditations are better fitted for 
peojde in our evil case, threatened not only with the 
death of our reverend mother, but with the loss of all 
things, than such laughing and gossip as has gone on 
for the last half hour. I take shame to myself, and 
thank the child for her reproof, though it might have 
been more gently spoken.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sister,” said I. She had spoken 
with a great deal of gravity, and feeling, and most 
of the sisters had the grace to look ashamed, only Sis- 
ter Perpetua muttered under her breath, but so I 
heard her: 

“ Fine airs, to be sure. But you are not prioress just 
yet, and many things may happen.” 

I don’t know what brought her to a religious 
house, I am sure, unless it was that her friends 
wished to get rid of her, which was the reason a great 
many nuns were professed in those days. I am very 


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99 


sure she never had any vocation for such a life, and 
she showed it after she got out. 

By that time my faintness was gone, but I thought 
I would like to he alone, so I told Sister Bridget 
what mother assistant had said, and withdrew. I 
had plenty to think about as I worked. Could it 
be possible that our house would be turned out of 
windows, as that of the Gray Nuns at Bridgewater 
had been — that venerable institution founded in the 
days of the Confessor — and if so, what would be- 
come of all ? I had not heard from my uncle, nor 
from Lady Peckham in several years, and knew not 
whether they were alive or dead. However, I was 
not so greatly concerned about my own fate. I 
was young and strong, a good needle- woman and 
musician, and I thought I could easily find a place as 
waiting-woman, or to attend upon young gentle- 
women. But what would become of such as Sister 
Bridget and Sister Cicely, and Sister Sacristine and 
Mother Joanna— old women who had spent all their 
lives in those walls, and knew nothing of the world 
beyond their boundary. Then I began to think about 
that Bible and to wonder where it was, and what was 
in it. I remembered the text mother assistant had 
quoted, and wondered — not without blaming myself 
for the thought — if she had read it in that same Bible. 

We had heard before, that though people were 
permitted to read the Word of God, they were for- 
bidden to discuss or dispute about it, which was much 
as if one should open the floodgates a little and then 
forbid the water to run through. 

I was so lost in my musings that I started as if 
I had been shot when the bell rung for vespers. We 


100 


Loveday's History . 

heard at supper that the prioress had rallied a little, 
but neither Father Austin nor the doctor, who had 
been sent for, believed she could get well. 

That was an anxious time. The prioress lingered 
for several days, sometimes quite herself for a few 
hours at a time, but mostly lying in a death-like 
stupor. The elders were of course much with her, and 
the discipline of the house was unusually relaxed. It 
was a time that showed what people were made of. 
The really sincere and religious sisters went on with 
their duties just as usual, being perhaps a little more 
punctilious in their performance; others took advant- 
age, broke rules, got together in knots and coteries 
and gossiped — not always in the most edifying way — 
of what was coming to pass, and what they would do 
when they got out. I was very angry with them 
then, but I can make more excuse for them in these 
days. Many of them, like Sister Perpetua, had no real 
calling to a religious life (it was called the religious 
life in those days, as if no one could be religious out 
a cloister). They were mostly younger daughters and 
orphan sisters, who were not likely to marry well 
and were sent to the convent as a safe and respecta- 
ble place out of the way. Not that all were so, by 
any means, but we had enough of that element to re- 
joice in any relaxation of rules. 

One day at sunset, however, the suspense was at an 
end so far as the prioress was concerned. We were 
all called into the ante-room of the apartment to 
assist at the last rites, and after they were over, we 
stood watching our poor mother who, supported in 
the arms of mother assistant, was painfully gasping 
her life away. Her face wore an anxious expression, 


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101 


and her eyes turned from one to another in a way 
that showed she was quite conscious. Now and then 
she said a word or two in a low tone — so low that we 
in the outer room could not hear. At last mother 
assistant beckoned me, and whispered me to give her 
a dry napkin from a pile that lay on the table. As I 
did so, I heard the prioress say, in a distressed whisper: 

“ But Purgatory — that dreadful place — are you 
sure ? ” 

Mother assistant bent down to her and whispered 
in her ear — I was close by and heard the words 
plainly: “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us 
from all sin.” The poor lady smiled, and just as the 
last ray of the sun shot into the window, she passed 
peacefully away. 

She was a good woman in the main, and very much 
of a lady, but she had allowed indolence — coming 
from an illness in the first place— to grow upon her 
till it became an over-mastering passion — if one can 
call indolence a passion. 

It came to that, that any call to exertion was looked 
upon as a positive misfortune. She had such able 
assistants, that this state of things did not produce so 
much trouble as might have been expected, but any 
one who knows what a houseful of ungoverned young 
people is like, may guess what our community 
would have become but for Father Austin and mother 
assistant. 

As soon as it was decent, a new meeting was 
called, and no one was surprised at the choice of 
mother assistant to be prioress. Mother Joanna 
was made assistant and Sister Bridget put in her 
place — a V ery good choice. At “ obedience,” when 


102 


Loveday's History. 


we were all assembled in her room, our new prior- 
ess made us an address, and very noble and touch- 
ing it was. She reminded us of our precarious 
condition, likely at any time to be turned out. 
She said she had been pained to know that 
some — she would name no names at present — but 
would leave the matter to our own consciences — 
had taken advantage of the state of things to be- 
have in a way which was unbecoming their pro- 
fession, and to good order. Here two or three of 
our best sisters who had been guilty of some little 
acts of forgetfulness kneeled down and kissed the floor, 
while Sister Perpetua and Sister Regina, who had 
been the ring-leaders, stood up as bold as brass. 
(It is always those who deserve blame least who take 
it to themselves.) She then pointed out the import- 
ance of good order and discipline, that our enemies 
might have nothing whereof justly to accuse us. 
She would not conceal the fact that we stood in 
great peril, but we were in higher hands than our 
own. She would have us neither anxious nor care- 
less, but pursuing a recollected and cheerful frame 
of mind, giving ourselves to prayer and good works, 
and not being anxious about the morrow. She 
would pass over all that had happened for the last few 
days, unless there were those who wished to clear 
their consciences by confessing any breach of disci- 
pline : but hereafter every thing would be kept up 
to the standards of the house. She concluded by 
asking our prayers for herself and her assistants, in a 
tone of true humility that brought tears to many 
eyes. We noticed that she said nothing about pray- 
ing for the soul of our departed mother, whereby we 


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103 


argued that she believed that soul to be already in 
Paradise. She then dismissed us with her blessing, 
and all things seemed to fall into their usual train. I 
have heard that people who live where there are vol- 
canoes, get used to them so that they carry on their 
business just as if nothing was the matter. We were 
then living on the crust of a volcano which might 
blow us into the air at any time, but we had already 
become - used to it, and as the autumn passed into 
winter, we almost forgot our danger. Sister Perpe- 
tua, indeed, tried titles once or twice, but she soon 
found that while the reverend mother had a house 
over her head, she meant to-be mistress in it, and 
after doing penance three whole days in the vaulted 
room under the sacristy on a diet of bread and water, 
and not much of that, she was very meek and sub- 
dued for a while. 

Somehow or other the storm was diverted for that 
time. I suppose that Bishop Gardiner, being so great 
with the king, contrived to keep the matter from his 
knowledge. However it was, the apples were gathered 
and garnered in peace, the usual stock of faggots laid 
in, and we settled down to our in-door occupations as 
if nothing was the matter. The reverend mother 
had a great deal of work put in hand, and instead of 
our usual whispered conversations we had loud read- 
ing in the Imitation of Christ, and other good books. 
Sometimes our mother would read us passages out of 
the Gospels, from a little written book which she held 
in her hand, copied I fancy from that same great Bi- 
ble which was never put in the church. I had read 
many of them before in the great book of Master 
Tyndale’s, which my uncle kept in his desk, and they 


104 


Loveday's History . 


set me thinking more than ever of mine old home. 
These readings were much liked by the serious part 
of our community, and as for the others, what ever 
they might feel, they knew enough to keep their own 
counsel. It was about this time, I remember being 
struck with the fact that in the whole Imitation, from 
beginning to end, there is not one single word or hint 
of any worship offered to the Virgin. I ventured to 
say as much once to Father Austin, with whom I 
still did a Latin lesson now and then, and to ask him 
what he thought was the reason ; whereat He smiled, 
and said when I saw Saint Thomas in Paradise I 
might ask him. 

The orchards bore very plentifully that year, and 
we sold our crop at a good price. We were helping 
to pick up the last of them one fine October day, 
when old Adam remarked that he wondered who 
would have the ordering of those same trees another 
year. 

“ Why, you yourself — why not ? ” said I. 

“ Na, na, lassie, I’ll no be here next year; at least I 
think not.” 

“ You do not think you are going to die ?” said I, 
anxiously, for he was a great friend of mine. “ Do 
you feel ill ? ” * 

“ No, I have my health well enough for one of my 
years. But we Islesmen have whiles a gliff of the 
second sight, and I have had strange visions concern- 
ing this house.” 

“ Oh, you are thinking about the visit of the com- 
missioners ! ” said I. “ But you see that has blown 
over and nothing has come of it.” 

“ I have whiles seen a storm blow over and then 


The Thunder Strikes. 


105 


come back ! ” said the old man, seriously. “ Na, na, 
lassie. Dinna be too confident. “ What’s fristed* is 
no forgotten.” 


* Fristed is “covered up,” or “skinned over. 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE LIGHTNING STRIKES AGAIN. 

HE old man was right. With the spring 
came rumors of renewed attacks upon the 
religious foundations all over the country. 
We heard before of the execution of the Bishop of 
Rochester, who laid down his gray head upon the 
block because he would not acknowledge the king to 
be pope — for that is what it amounted to. (Nothing 
can be more absurd than to call Henry the Eighth a 
Protestant.) Our own prioress might be said to have 
died in the same cause. Nobody had appeared to 
administer the oath to our present head, however, 
and we had begun to think that we were to be let 
alone. I do not believe that the reverend mother 
had any such hopes. Our foundation was a wealthy 
one, and our church was well known to be unusually 
rich in gold and silver. There was abundance of 
shrines, reliquaries and boxes, as valuable for their 
splendid workmanship as for the precious metals of 
which they were made, and the jewels with which 
they were incrusted. Then there were missals set 
with precious stones, beautiful hangings and vest- 
ments, and vessels, and candlesticks, and the like. 



The Lightning Strikes Again . 107 

These articles were all displayed upon feast days, and 
when our great altar was lighted up at the festival 
of our Patroness, it was a spectacle almost too bright 
for mortal eyes. 

Such a prey was not likely very long to escape the 
teeth and claws of my Lord Cromwell, and his master. 
Bishop Gardiner himself was very forward in promo- 
ting the king’s designs upon the religious houses (for 
as devout as he afterward professed himself). He 
was our visitor, as I have said, and when the very 
shepherd is in league with the wolves, the sil^y sheep 
have little chance of escape. 

It was on a beautiful morning in May that destruc- 
tion overtook us. We had just come out of chapel 
for our recreation, when we heard a thundering 
knocking at the great gate, and the portress going to 
open it, found a couple of gentlemen, and our old 
friend, or enemy, the bishop’s chaplain, with letters 
from my Lord Cromwell and Bishop Gardiner for 
the prioress and community. We were all in the gar- 
den, huddled together and watching afar off, when the 
mother assistant called us to come into the ante-room 
of the choir, where we were wont to put on the long 
mantles which we wore in church. We were bid to 
array ourselves as quickly as possible and get our- 
selves into the usual order of our procession. This 
being done, and preceded by the cross-bearers, as was 
the way in our grand processionals, the singers passed 
into the choir, singing as usual, I being at the organ, 
which I was accustomed to play for all church services. 
The youngest sisters came first and the prioress last. 
Father Austin stood near the altar, his head 
bowed down with grief, yet commanding himself like 


108 


Loveday's History. 


a man. The bishop’s chaplain and the two other vis- 
itors stood beside him, and the latter were passing 
their remarks freely enough upon all they saw, and 
even on the figures and faces of the sisters. Stand- 
ing upon the chancel steps they could look directly 
into the choir, which no one in the body of the church 
could see at all. I must do our ladies the justice to 
say that they seemed, one and all, totally unconscious 
of the presence of these strange men. Even Sister 
Perpetua was awed into decent behavior. 

Whe^ all w^ere in their places, the chaplain an- 
nounced his errand. He had come, by the authority 
of the king and his minister, my Lord Cromwell, to 
demand the surrender of the charter of that house to 
his majesty, with all treasures of every sort, and all 
superstitious relics, whereof my lord was well informed 
we possessed a great number. All members of the 
family w T ere to be at liberty to depart whither they 
would, being furnished, by the king’s liberality, with 
a suit of secular clothing. As to the house and its 
contents, they were to be at the absolute disposition 
of the king, and no one was to presume, on pain of 
felony, to secrete, carry off, or make away with any 
article whatever, though by the king’s special grace 
and favor toward the bishop, the sisters might take any 
books or other property of their own, not above the 
value of three marks.* The visitors had brought down 
articles of surrender for the prioress to sign, and two of 
the commissioners would remain to take an inventory 
of our goods, and see such as were of value packed for 
removal. 

* See many such surrenders in the Camden Miscellany and 
in Fuller’s Church History. 


The Lightning Strikes Again t 109 

I do not suppose that any one now can estimate the 
shock of this declaration. I do think, if the earth 
had quaked and shaken down church and convent in 
one common ruin, it would not have amazed and hor- 
rified us as much. I am sure when the spire was 
struck by lightning — whereby two of our bells were 
melted — we were not nearly as astounded.* I, hidden 
away in the organ loft, could watch the faces of the 
sisters. One or two burst into tears, but the greater 
part were too much stunned to move. The prioress 
was very pale, but she spoke in her usual even, some- 
what deep voice. 

“ These are heavy tidings you bring us, gentlemen. 
How have we been so unfortunate a3 to fall under his 
Grace’s displeasure ? ” 

The gentlemen looked at each other, and one of 
them began reciting a long list of the sins and short- 
comings of the religious houses, whereby his majesty 
was moved, by his zeal for true religion, to suppress 
all houses below a certain value — two hundred pounds 
a year — I believe. The prioress heard him to the 
end, and answered in the same calm tone. 

“ For the misorders and scandals whereof you speak, 
I can answer for no house but my own. Sure I am, 
that for the forty years I have lived in these hallowed 
walls, no such thing has happened here, and as our 
revenues are nearer to three hundred a year than two, 
I see not how his Grace’s royal will applies to us.” 

“We will be the judges of that,” answered the 
commissioner, arrogantly. “As to the matter of 

* Fuller notes, as remarkable, the number of abbeys and 
priories which were, at one time or another, burned by light- 
ning. He gives a list of thirteen thus destroyed. 


110 


Loveday's History . 


scandals, we have been better informed by some of 
your own number. There have been scandals enow, 
especially of late. Will you dare tell me, woman, 
that no young men have been entertained in this 
house — that there has been no junketing and carous- 
ing in the very parlor of the prioress herself. I tell 
you we have sure information, and will you dare to 
deny it ? ” 

The prioress paused for a little, and let her eyes 
travel from face to face round the circle. When she 
came to Sister Perpetua and Sister Regina, she looked 
them in the face for a full minute. There was no 
need to inquire further who was the false witness. 
Their visages spoke for them. (It was much the same 
with all the religious houses. There was always some 
traitor in the camp, ready, whether for greed of gain 
or to curry favor, or because of weariness of their 
vows, to inform against their brethren.) The lady 
was about to speak again, when the other commissioner 
interrupted her. He was the elder of the two, and 
altogether more decent in his demeanor. 

“ Under your favor, honored lady, I would counsel 
you to take time for advisement, and to read the letter 
sent you by your reverend visitor, which his chaplain 
will hand you. After that we will hear your decision.” 

“It is well spoken, sir,” answered the prioress. 
“ Meantime, please you, gentlemen, to withdraw to 
the house of Father Austin, our priest and confessor, 
where I will give order for your entertainment.” 

“ Nay, reverend mother, methinks the common 
fare of your refectory will suit us well enough,” re- 
turned the younger man. “ If all tales be true, we 
are not the first who have had such entertainment, 


The Lightning Strikes Again . Ill 

and methinks we were safer to make you our 
taster.” 

The reverend mother made no reply to his impu- 
dence, hut giving a sign to the sisters, they withdrew 
as they had entered. When all had passed hut her- 
self and the mother assistant, she advanced to the 
wide grating which separated the choir from the 
church, and held out her hand, covered with a fold of 
her rohe, for the bishop’s letter. The elder man gave it 
her with a reverence for which I liked him all the bet- 
ter, and said, in a low tone, as the other turned away : 

“ Be advised, madam. Resistance can do no good, 
and will bring only heavier calamity on yourself and 
your flock. Be advised, and follow your visitor’s 
counsel.” 

“ I thank you, sir, for your words, which I see are 
kindly meant,” said the prioress ; “but I must have a 
little time to consider the matter. How long can you 
give me ? ” 

He called back his brother commissioner, and after 
consultation, in which he seemed to press some point 
which the other yielded unwillingly, he turned and 
said : “ Till to-morrow at this hour, madam.” 

“ I thank you,” said the lady once more — and 
passed out of the door. I closed my instrument, not 
without a sob, as I thought I might never touch it 
again, and followed the reverend mother. 

It was now the time for dinner, but the bell had 
not been rung. The sisters were standing talking to- 
gether in excited groups, and many an angry and 
contemptuous glance was cast at the two traitors. 
The prioress at once restored order, and bade the por- 
tress ring the bell for dinner. “ Let us have no mis- 


112 


Loveday's History . 


order — no relaxation of discipline on what may per- 
haps be our last day in this blessed inclosure,” said 
she. “ Slandered we have been and may be, but let 
us keep our own consciences clear and unstained. 
That comfort no one can take from us.” 

It was a feast day, and our cheer was better than 
common, but nobody felt like eating. The ceremo- 
nies of the table went on as usual, however, and the 
reader’s voice never faltered. After dinner came 
recreation, and then the tongues were let loose again. 

“ Well, for my part, I care not what becomes of 
me after this,” said Sister Sacristine. “I have lived 
too long.” 

“ Do not say that, sister,” returned Mother Bridget, 
gently. “ We cannot say what gracious purpose may 
yet be in store for us.” 

“ Don’t talk of gracious purposes ! ” said the Sacris- 
tine, angrily. “ Here have I been serving the blessed 
Magdalene all these years, wearing my fingers to the 
bone cleaning of her shrine with wash leather and 
hartshorn salts and what not, and this is what I get 
by it. And to see the holy relics carried off and 
dispersed after all my care.” The poor old lady 
burst into tears and wept bitterly, and more than one 
joined her. As for me, I stole away to a favorite 
place of retirement — a little shrine or oratory in the 
orchard, half hidden by trees and thick, clustering 
ivy. Here I was used to keep certain books of my 
own — a Latin Imitation and Psalter, and a prayer- 
book which I had brought from my old home at 
Peckham Hall. I hoped for a little solitude to collect 
my thoughts, but I was disappointed. As I drew 
near, I heard men’s voices in the building, and recog- 


The Lightning Strikes Again. 113 

nized them for those of the old Scotch gardener and 
Mr. Lethbridge, the younger commissioner. 

“ So this is the jaw-bone of St. Lawrence, is it?” 
said the latter ; and peeping through a crack, I saw 
with horror that he was tossing it up and down in 
his hand. “ It looks more like a pig’s jaw to me.” 

“Maybe,” answered Adam. “Ye’ll be a better 
judge of that article than me. It was aye called the 
jaw of St. Lawrence in my time.” 

“What of it — suppose it was?” said the other, 
arrogantly. “ What good could it do any one ? 
For my part, I care no more for St. Lawrence’s jaw 
than for Mahomet’s.” 

“I would na speak scornfully of the jaw of Ma- 
homet gin I were talking to a Turk,” retorted Adam. 
“ I might argue wi’ him, gin I thought it would be to 
edification, but I would na scorn at him. I would 
think it ill manners.” 

For all answer, Mr. Lethbridge tossed the relic 
from him, and ordered the gardener to show him the 
rest of the grounds. When they were gone, I en- 
tered the chapel, and having gathered my books to- 
gether, I picked up the jaw of St. Lawrence, which 
certainly had an odd shape for a man’s, wiped the 
dust from it, and laid it back in its place. Then, a 
sudden thought striking me, I dug a hole in the 
earth, at the foot of the great honeysuckle, and 
buried it; and there it may'be now, for aught I know. 

Our services went on as usual during the day — the 
last day, perhaps, they would ever be performed in 
those walls which had heard prayers and chants for so 
many hundred years. It was touching to see how 
punctiliously almost all the sisters performed every 


114 Loveday's History . 

duty, even the smallest. There were exceptions, how- 
ever. As I said, we had two or three who had no 
vocation whatever, and they tried to take liberties, 
and were not ashamed to exchange mocking glances 
and whispers, even in the hour of meditation. No- 
body took any notice of them, however, except to 
draw away when they came near as if they had the 
pestilence. I remember Sister Regina took hold of 
the sleeve of Sister Anne’s habit to draw her atten- 
tion to something, she being a little deaf, whereupon 
the old lady, having her scissors in her hand, deliber- 
ately cut out the place Regina had touched and tram- 
pled it under her feet. It was not a very Christian 
act, perhaps, but we were all glad of it. Sister Re- 
gina did have the grace to look abashed for a moment, 
the more that she had always been rather a favorite 
with Sister Anne. 

That evening, just before bed-time, Sister Sacris- 
tine met me in the gallery and drew me aside into the 
sacristy, and then into a little inner vaulted room 
where our most valuable relics were stored, when not 
exposed to the adoration of the faithful. The pre- 
cious shrines which were used at these times were kept 
in another place, whereof the key was already in the 
hands of the commissioners. Shutting the door, and 
opening a dark lantern which she carried, she whis- 
pered in my ear : 

“ Loveday, you are a brave girl. I remember how 
you faced the bull that day he got out. Will you 
help me to save our most precious relic from profana- 
tion ? ” 

“ If I can ! ” said I, doubtfully. “ But what is it 
you want to do ?” 


The Lightning Strikes Again . 115 

She glanced round, and then whispered in my ear : 

“ I want to let out the Virgin’s smoke. But the 
stopper is too stiff for my fingers, and I want you to 
open it and let the smoke out. Then we can leave the 
bottle as we found it ! ” 

How this bottle of smoke from the Blessed Mother’s 
hearth at Bethlehem was, indeed, our most precious 
relic, and was looked upon with awful reverence. 
I fully sympathized with Sister Sacristine’s desire to 
save it from profanation, but I was rather scared at 
the idea of touching it, not knowing exactly what it 
might do if it got out. 

“Do you think it would be safe ? ” I asked. “ You 
know how when the over-curious priest opened the 
vial to smell of it, a huge volume of black smoke 
issued from it and blasted him as by lightning.” 

“ Yes, but that was different. His was a profane 
motive, and ours is a devout one. Oh, Loveday, do 
help me. I can’t endure to think of the blessed 
smoke in that wretch’s hands, and, besides, who can 
tell what it might do.” 

“ I wish it would smother him and Father Simon 
both ! ” said I, spitefully, “ and Perpetua and Regina 
as well.” 

“ Oh, my child, we must forgive our persecutors, 
you know, and I do try. But you will help me, won’t 
you, and I will pray for you all my life.” 

“ Yes, I will help you,” I said. “ What do you wish 
me to do ? ” 

“ That is a good girl. May all the saints and an- 
gels have you in their keeping.” As she spoke she 
took from a box a little bottle of greenish material, 
covered with bright flowers somewhat raised. It had 


116 


Lov eddy's History . 


a stopper and cap of gold, very curiously wrought, with 
a hasp or clasp. I suppose no young person who has 
grown up under the present state of things, can guess 
the profound awe with which I received the little ves- 
sel into my hand. We both kissed it reverently, and 
then with some trouble I loosed the hasp and took 
out the stopper, while we both fell on our knees. Our 
eyes were fixed on the precious bottle to await what- 
ever might happen. But the surprising thing was, 
that nothing happened at all. The little vessel lay 
upon its side in my hand as innocent and pretty as a 
maids fairing, but there was no smoke — not even a 
smell of burning. 

“ Alas ! alas ! ” sobbed Sister Sacristine, “ the 
Holy Mother has already withdrawn from this house 
and taken her smoke with her ! The glory has 
departed. Alas ! alas for us ! Our Holy Mother 
has been offended and has withdrawn her protection 
from these walls. I fear my sins have helped to 
draw this judgment on us. Mea culpa ! mea 
culpa ! ” 

For myself, I confess I had a different feeling. I 
could not see what the Blessed Virgin should 
want with her smoke if she had gone away. Sister 
Sacristine’s face being buried in her robe, I ventured 
to turn the mouth of the bottle to the light and 
even to smell of it. The inside was quite white and 
clean, and had a faint odor of musk. (Years after- 
ward I found this very bottle, minus the gold orna- 
ments, at a pawn shop in London and bought it for a 
trifle. My son says it is one of the little things they 
make in China by the thousand and sell for a few 
pence. It had been in j^ossession of our house for 


j the Lightning Strikes Again . lit 

a very long time, and was no doubt brought from the 
East by some pilgrim.) 

“ Dear sister, do not cry so,” said I, at last. “ Per- 
haps Our Lady has herself taken away this precious 
relic that it might not be profaned.” 

“ You don’t think it is a miracle, do you ? ” asked 
the sister, brightening up. 

“ Perhaps so,” I answered. 

“ Dear Sister Postulant, how clever you are,” said 
the old lady, wiping her eyes; “I should not have 
thought of that? Oh, if you could only take the veil 
here, you would be Superior before you were thirty. 
But, ah me ! nobody will ever put on the blessed veil 
in this house again.” 

“ Don’t cry any more, dear sister,” said I; “and do 
not let us stay any longer in this damp place; you 
will have the rheumatism again, and besides, the bell 
will ring in a minute and we ought to be in our 
cells.” 

With much ado, I got her away and helped her to 
bed, for she was very feeble. I could not help won- 
dering what would become of her. She had come 
from a distant part of the country and had no living 
relations that she knew of, and she was growing 
infirm and rather childish. 

It was our custom to assemble at six o’clock in the 
community room, to give the reverend mother an 
account of the work we had done and the books we 
had read the day before. When we were all together 
the prioress told us the substance of our visitor’s let- 
ter. It simply amounted to this, that there was no 
use in resistance, since it would only exasperate the 
king and his minister. The commissioners had or- 


118 Loveday's History . 

ders to turn us all out of doors without ceremony in 
such a case ; whereas by giving way at once, we 
might be allowed to remain in our old home a few 
days, till we could provide ourselves with some other 
shelter. (He did not say how or where this provision 
was to be made.) If there was any sin in the case, 
which he did not think, he would give a full absolu- 
tion. The whole might as well have been put into 
one sentence: “You will have to go, so you may 
as well go quietly.” 

“It seems we have no choice and nothing to do,” 
said Mother Joanna. “ Nothing to do but to submit 
to the hand of violence, committing our cause to 
Him who judgeth righteously. As to those who for 
their own ends have slandered and belied this house,” 
she added, “ let them beware. There was pardon for 
Peter, who denied his Lord, for Thomas who doubted, 
and for the rest who forsook him. It was only Judas, 
who sold him, of whom it was said: ‘It were better 
for that man if he had never been born ! ’ ” 

The lady said these solemn words in a tone of 
sorrow and reproach which might have moved a 
heart of stone, but I think that Perpetua had not 
so much as that. But Sister Regina, who was much 
younger and more foolish than wicked — I do think 
most of the mischief in the world is done by fools 
— burst into tears, and sobbing as if her heart would 
break, she fell on her knees at the mother’s feet, 
kissed the floor and entreated for pardon.” 

“ I forgive you, my poor child,” said the prioress, 
sadly ; “ in my own name, and those of your mothers 
and sisters, I forgive you ; but alas ! your penitence, 
inestimable as it is to yourself, cannot undo what you 


The Lightning Strikes Again. 119 

have done. My mothers and sisters, is it your 
will that I act according to the terms of this letter ? ” 

The asking was only a form, for there was clearly 
nothing else to be done. Accordingly, when we were 
again assembled in the choir at nine o’clock, the 
prioress formally surrendered the keys, saying that 
she did so in obedience to the orders of our visitor, 
and praying only for a few days’ grace, that the sisters 
might be able to make some provision for themselves. 

u Surely,” said Doctor Willard, the elder gentle- 
man, “ it were hard to refuse so small a boon as that.” 

“ I thank you,, sir,” said the prioress ; “ may you 
also find grace in your time of utmost need. Here, 
then, are the keys ; I put them into your hands. For 
the rest, I and my poor children commit ourselves 
and our cause to Heaven, since we have no hope in 
this world.” 

There was a burst of sobs and tears from the 
mothers and sisters at these words. The prioress 
alone remained calm, though her face was pale as the 
marble Virgins above her head. Even Mr. Lethbridge 
was awed into silence for a few minutes by the dig- 
nity of her manner. “ One word more I must say,” 
added the prioress ; “ as for the bruits which you 
say have „ come to your ears touching scandals in 
this house, I pronounce them utterly false, slander- 
ous and wicked. During the twenty years that I 
have been assistant within these walls, there has been 
but one case of scandal, and that was simply an elope- 
ment, which happened some eight years ago. For the 
rest, I defy any one but the most hardened liar and 
slanderer to say aught against the fair fame of these 
my dear children.” 


120 


Jjoveday's History . 


Mr. Lethbridge openly exchanged glances with 
Sister Perpetua, but Sister Regina kept her eyes 
steadfastly fixed upon the ground, while her face 
flamed with blushes. 

“ Since you have resigned the house, madam, there 
is no need to enter into that matter,” said Dr. Willard, 
repressing his colleague, who was about to speak. 
“ For myself, I do not believe these tales to be any 
thing but the outcome of private malice and revenge, 
and dictated by the meanest motive.” 

It was now Sister Perpetua’s turn to redden. 

“ You go too far, Dr. Willard,” said Mr. Lethbridge. 
“ Remember, sir, that I am joined with you in this 
commission.” 

“ I am not likely to forget what is due either to you 
or myself,” said Doctor Willard, calmly. “ Madam, 
we will now excuse your attendance upon what must 
needs be painful to you. You can keep possession of 
your own apartments and those of the. ladies, only 
they must be searched to see that no treasure is con- 
cealed, as has been the case in other places.” 

He bowed, as if in dismissal, and we left the choir 
in our order of procession for the last time. 

What a day that was. The prioress bade all those 
who still acknowledged her authority, which were all 
but three or four, to gather together such little mat- 
ters as they were allowed to carry away with them, 
and then to resort to the community room, where they 
were to occupy themselves in reading and prayer, and 
such needlework as was necessary. She warned us 
against concealing any thing of value, as it would 
only bring us and herself into trouble. Our little 
packets were soon made up, and we gathered together, 


The Lightning Strikes Again. 121 

a sad and sorrowing family. Only Sister Perpetua, 
and one or two like her, openly threw off all alle- 
giance, put on, at the first possible minute, the secular 
dresses provided, and went roaming all about the 
place, talking with the comers and goers who were 
now profaning our sacred inclosure. For, finding the 
great gates open, which they had always seen locked 
and barred, the people of the neighboring hamlet, and 
from the village of Dartford, were ready enough to 
gratify their curiosity, as perhaps was only natural. 
Some were kind and feeling ; others openly jeered at 
our misfortunes, and rejoiced at our downfall ; and 
among these last were several mendicants, who had 
had their living from our daily doles. In truth, this 
daily almsgiving at the gates of these religious houses, 
brought any thing but respectable people about them. 
“ Yes, give us the broken pieces and the old clothes, 
while you eat white bread and drink wine, will you ? ” 
mumbled one old woman, for whom I had myself made 
a new flannel petticoat and serge kirtle only a week 
before. u We shall see who will have the old clothes 
and the broken bits now.” 

“ You wont, that’s certain, and glad I am, you un- 
grateful old beldam,” said a decent-looking woman, 
who was making her way through the crowd with 
a basket on her arm. “ Who do you think will feed 
you, ungrateful wretches that you are, when the ladies 
are gone ? Will the king, or the great lord or gentle- 
man who gets the place, do ought for such as you, think 
you ? No, indeed ; not even broken crusts will you 
get, much less such an outfit as was given you last 
week.” Then, catching sight of me, for I had come 
out upon some errand, I forget what, she continued: 


122 Loveday's History. 

“ Young lady, may I ask if Sister Elizabeth is still 
living — she who used to teach in the school?” 

“ Oh, you mean she who is now the Sacristine ? ” 
said I, after a moment’s thought, for I had never heard 
her called by that name more than once or twice. 
“ Yes, she is living, but quite infirm.” 

“ Poor heart, and to be turned out in her old age — 
but that she shall not be, so long as Hester Lee has 
a roof over mun’s head — that she shan’t ! ” said the 
good woman. “ Could ’ee bring me to speak with 
her, my lamb ? ” 

“Come with me,” said I, rejoicing at her words, for 
I had been very unhappy about the poor old sister. I 
led the way to a little parlor, and the prioress passing 
at the moment I told her the woman’s errand. 

“ I am only a mariner’s wife, keeping a shop for 
small wares in Dartford, madam,” said the woman, in 
answer to the reverend mother’s question, “but I have 
enough and to spare. I well remember the lady’s 
goodness to me, a poor orphan maid, among people 
whose very tongue was strange to me, and who never 
had a kind word to sweeten the bread they grudged 
to their brother’s orphan. Ah, madam, strange bread 
is bitter enough to those who have to eat it, without 
salting it with cold looks and harsh constructions.” 

“Very true, my daughter,” said the prioress ; and 
she sighed. Poor lady, she was no doubt thinking 
how soon she might have to eat that salt and bitter 
bread herself. 

“ And so, madam, by your leave, I have come to 
ask the old lady to spend the rest of her days under 
my roof, and she shall be as welcome as flowers in 
May, and so shall you yourself, madam, if you would 


The Lightning Strikes Again . 123 

honor me so far. I have a fine upper chamber, where 
you can be as secluded as you will, until you can make 
some arrangement more suited to your quality. Alas, 
madam, what have I done ? ” 

For our poor mother, who had not been seen to shed 
a tear in all our troubles, now burst into a passion of 
weeping such as I hardly ever saw, and all the more 
startling in one usually so calm. 

“You have done nothing but what is good and 
right,” I whispered, mine own eyes overflowing. “The 
dear mother will be better for this relief.” 

Sister Regina who, ever since the morning, had fol- 
lowed the prioress round like a little dog which has 
displeased his master and wishes to make amends, 
darted away, and in a minute returned with a glass of 
fair water and a smelling-bottle. The prioress took 
the water and thanked her ; whereat Regina burst out 
blubbering like a great schoolboy, and retired into a 
corner to sob and sniff at her ease. 

“‘Were there not ten cleansed, but where are the 
nine ? ’ ” said our mother, recovering herself, and 
smiling sadly. “ ‘ There are not found that returned 
again to give God praise, save this stranger.’ I shall 
most certainly advise Sister Elizabeth to accept your 
hospitality. As for myself, I am provided for, since 
my brother will gladly give me a home, and also a 
shelter to this young lady till she can hear from her 
friends. I will call the sister.” 

Sister Sacristine had shut herself in her cell, after 
giving up her keys, and the prioress went herself to 
seek her, followed as before by Sister Regina. When 
she had departed, Dame Lee drew near to me, and 
said, in an awe-struck whisper: 


124 


Isoveday's History. 

“ Mistress, does the lady profess the new religion ? 

“No — at least I suppose not,” I answered, sur- 
prised ; “ why should you think so ? ” 

“ Because she repeated those words. They are from 
the English Bible.” 

I remembered, all at once, the great Bible which had 
been sent down for the church, and which had been 
removed, as the prioress had said, to a place of safety. 
Was it possible she could have been reading it all this 
time ? But this was no time to discuss so dangerous 
a subject, and besides, I wanted to talk of something 
else. There was that in Hester Lee’s tone and accent 
which were strangely familiar — something which took 
me back to very early days, before I went to Peckham 
Hall. 

“What part of the country did you come from, 
dame ? ” I asked. 

“ Me, my lamb, I be from Devon — up Clovally way — 
I be, and so was my father, rest his soul. Ees, I be 
from Devon.” 

“ And so am I,” I answered, feeling somehow as if 
I had found a friend, “ though ’tis many a long year 
since I saw the place. My father owned Watcombe 
Farm.” 

Dame Hester knew the farm, and was delighted to 
meet a countrywoman. In the midst of our colloquy, 
the prioress returned, followed by Sister Sacristine 
in the secular dress which had been provided for each 
of us, and very funny she looked in it. She carried a 
bundle in her hand. 

“Yes, I will go with you, Hester, since you are so 
good as to ask me,” said she. “You were always a 
towardly child, and learned to do white seam quicker 


125 


The Lightning Strikes Again. 

than any girl I ever saw. Yes, I will go, and as soon 
as you please ; for I can’t endure to see the way they 
are stripping the church.” 

“ We had best make our way home at once,” said 
Dame Hester. “ I have an easy, sure-footed donkey 
at the gate for the lady. And you, madam — ” 

“ I thank you, Dame Hester, but I must stay till all 
is over,” said the prioress. “ You are a sailor’s wife 
(she had told us as much), and you know that the 
captain should be the last in the sinking ship.” 

“ And that is true, madam, and what my husband 
always says. Well, then, we will bid farewell. Come, 
good mother, we will soon have you in safety.” 

They went away, and I never saw the sister again. 
She did not live very long, but passed her days in 
great peace under the roof of Jonas and Hester Lee, 
who tended her like an honored parent, though they 
had plenty of scoffs and fault-findings from Hester’s 
kindred, who had their eyes on the savings of the 
childless couple. 

As I was about to leave the room, the prioress de- 
tained me, sending Regina on some errand to the fur- 
ther end of the house. I was glad of that, for I was 
still very bitter against her, and believed her close 
attendance on the reverend mother to be that of a 
spy, in which belief I now think I did her injustice. 
She was simply one of those weak fools who are 
ready to be led by any one that will take the trouble 
— unless it be some one who has the right to govern 
them, and then they can be obstinate enough. 

“ Loveday, I have something here which belongs 
to you,” said she. As she spoke, she produced a 
packet of some size from her pocket, and with a 


126 Loveday's History. 

great throb, I recognized my uncle’s handwriting on 
the outside. 

“ These are letters from your uncle and his family, 
which have come from time to time for the last six 
or seven years,” said she. “There is no reason now 
why you should not have them,” 

“ And why did I not have them before ?” was the 
hot question which rose to my lips. The habit of 
discipline was strong within me, and I did not ask it; 
but the prioress answered as if I had spoken. 

“ Why were they not given to you ? Because it 
was not thought best. It was the desire of my Lady 
Peckham, who was your legal guardian, that you 
should make this house your home, and be professed 
here. We saw that every letter you had from your 
uncle’s family disturbed your mind and made you 
homesick ” (that was true enough), “ and therefore 
we thought it best to break off all such intercourse. 
My child, I see that you are thinking this very hard, 
but you must remember that any parent would have 
exercised the same right over a daughter’s letters. 
Were it to do again, I might act differently. I see 
many things in a different light from what I did 
when you first came here. Here arc your letters. 
You may learn from them something about the pres- 
' ent state of your uncle’s family, though I think the 
last is two years old.” 

I need not say how eagerly I received the letters, 
and how I devoured them. They were written at 
different times, and all contained assurances of undy- 
ing regard from my uncle and aunt, with complaints 
of my silence. The latest was from my uncle, and 
had been written from a town in Holland, whither 


The Lightning Strikes Again, 127 

the family had removed. My uncle seemed to be in 
a lively vein, for he recalled various incidents of my 
stay in the family ; at the close, were these words : 

“Do you remember the odd experiments I once 
showed you with chemicals, whereby Sambo was so 
scared ? You know there was one in invisible ink, 
which the good fellow thought was witchcraft.” 

A sudden notion flashed across me, which made me 
gather up all my precious papers, and hasten to the 
kitchen. A great fire was burning in the fireplace, 
and the room was empty, for dinner had long been 
over. Quickly I held the last dated letter to the hot 
coals, and as I had half expected, I saw lines of 
brown writing appear between the black. I read as 
follows: 

“ I have sure intelligence that within a year or two 
at furthest, the religious houses in England will be 
forced to surrender. Should such a thing happen, 
do you make your way to London, to the house 
where I used to live. Master John Davis and his 
wife will care for you, and put you in the way of 
hearing from or coming to me. My Lady Peckham 
being now dead, there will be no one to interfere 
with you.” 

How welcome were these lines ! I had been won- 
dering what would become of me, and here was a 
home provided, if I could but make shift to reach it, and 
that I was determined to do if I had to beg my way. 
I had just come to this resolution when I heard a 
step approaching, and hastened to hide my treasure 
in my bosom. I was both angry and alarmed, for 
the new comer was Mr. Lethbridge, for whom I had 
conceived a violent aversion. I would have passed 


128 Lov eddy's History . 

from the room, but be barred tbe way wbicbever 
way I turned. 

“ Not so fast, not so fast, fair mistress ! ” said be. 
“Let me be your confessor, and tell me wbat you are 
doing bere amid tbe pots and pans, and whether you 
are not glad in your heart to escape from this cage, 
and spread your wings ? ” 

I deigned no answer to the question, but possessed 
myself of tbe tongs, as if I would arrange tbe fire. 

“ Wbat ! will you threaten me with tbe tongs, like 
a second St. Dunstan ? Nay, then I may fairly meet 
force with force.” 

He came forward and put out bis hand, as if to lay 
bold on me, and, blind with fear and anger, I struck at 
him with tbe hot tongs. He recoiled from the blow 
and stumbled against a dresser, on which Sister Ro- 
sina, from mere force of habit, I suppose, had set a 
great earthen pot of soup, which she had prepared 
beforehand for the morrow’s dinner. Down came the 
pot, and souse went the greasy liquid over my master’s 
fine clothes and into his hair and eyes. It had been 
off the fire too long, certainly, to scald, but it was 
hot enough to be very uncomfortable, and another 
hasty motion sent the dresser itself, with all its 
trenchers and pipkins, after the soup. Sister Rosina 
was always saying that dresser would come down 
some day, and certainly, it took a good opportunity 
of fulfilling its destiny. While its victim was cursing 
and swearing and roaring for help, I escaped from the 
nearest door and ran up a winding stair and through 
rooms and galleries where I had never been before, to 
the prioress’s own room, bursting in upon her in the 
most unmannerly fashion. 


The Lightning Strikes Again ♦ 129 

“ Loveday, is this you ? Where do you come from, 
and what ails you ? ” asked the lady in some dis- 
pleasure. I mustered my breath as well as I could, 
and told her what had happened, whereat she laughed 
— almost the only time I ever saw her do so, though her 
smiles were frequent enough — I also showed* her my 
uncle’s letter, not seeing any harm in so doing, as things 
were at that time. 

“ Ay, every one foresees the evil save the one whom 
it most concerns,” said she. “ Do you know aught of 
this Master Davis, save what your uncle says ? ” 

“ I have often seen him when I lived in London, 
reverend mother. He and his son were great friends 
of mine uncle’s. He was well-to-do at that time and 
in a large way of business, and a learned man — or so 
I have heard mine uncle say.” 

“And what say you? Do you incline to go to 
him ? ” 

I told her frankly, that I did, since mine uncle, 
who was my nearest relation, and therefore my natural 
guardian, desired me to do so. 

“ It is well,” said the lady. “ If I were going to a 
house of my own, Loveday, I would ask you to go 
with me, and be as a daughter to me. But my brother 
hath a large family, and I shall be but a dependent my- 
self. I had made up my mind to keep you for a time 
at any rate, but perhaps it is as well. Ah, my poor 
child, we who thought to die in our nest, must now 
learn the truth of what the Italian poet saith : 

* How hard he fares 

Who goetk up and down another’s stairs.’ 

“ But we must have patience. ‘ For here we have 


130 


Loveday's History . 


no continuing city ’ — well for us if we can add — ‘ but 
we seek one to come — if, indeed, we look for a city 
which hath foundations whose builder and maker is 
God.’” 

How I longed to ask her if these words were from 
the Evangel. But even had I dared to put such a 
question to her, there was no time, for the portress 
came in haste to say that a stranger in the parlor de- 
sired to speak with the lady, and with Mistress Love- 
day Corbet, if it might be allowed. 

“ Fine doings, indeed, if strange men are to come 
to our house and ask to see a postulant, and that not 
even on a visiting day,” grumbled the poor old woman. 
“ Fine doings, indeed ! ” 

“ You forget, my poor sister, that we have no longer 
a house,” said the prioress, sadly. “ Did the gentle- 
man give his name ? ” 

“That he did, reverend mother,” answered the 
portress. “No man comes into this house without 
giving his name while I am portress, though I died 
the next minute. But this seems a worthy man and 
civil — a merchant of London, I should say, as mine 
own honored father was, and he was an iron-monger 
in East Clieepe.” 

“ All this time you are not giving me the gentle- 
man’s name,” said the prioress, while I was burning 
with impatience I dared not show. 

“I did not say a gentleman, reverend mother, 
but a merchant, which he says his name is John 
Davis,” answered the portress, coming at last to the 
matter in hand. My heart sank for a moment, for 
I thought it might be mine uncle, but it rose again as 
I considered that Master Davis had probably heard 


The Lightning Strikes Again . 131 

of wliat had befallen us and had come to seek 
for me. 

So it proved. John Davis looked just as I re- 
membered him, only older. He was a grave and rev- 
erend man, with silver hair and beard, a polished de- 
meanor, and more of the scholar in his aspect than 
one would have expected of a silk mercer. But 
Master Davis had dealt in far other wares than silks 
and damask in his day, and had made his profit of 
them as well. 

He greeted the lady with as deep a reverence as 
though she had still been at the head of one of the best 
houses in the country — perhaps a little deeper — and 
proceeded to open his business. He had heard, he 
said, of the misfortune which had befallen the house, 
in common with many others, and he had come to 
find the niece of his old friend and take her to his own 
home. Then turning his cap in his hand, with some 
appearance of embarassment, he adverted to another 
matter. Heaven had blessed him, he said, with 
abundant wealth. He should esteem it a favor if the 
lady would accept a small sum at his hands to help 
those of the family who were without means or 
friends. 

“ You are very kind, sir,” said the prioress. “ You 
do not then think that all convents are the sinks of 
iniquity that they have been represented of late.” 

“ Ho, madam ; I believe they are like all human in- 
stitutions, both good and bad being mixed up in 
them.” 

“ But you think, perhaps, they are as well out of 
the way.” 

“ Madam, you push me to the wall,” said the 


132 


Loveday's History . 


old man, raising his head and regarding her with his 
clear, steadfast blue eyes. “ Since I must declare 
what I think, I must needs say that what is 
called the religious life, hath no warrant in Holy Scrip- 
ture. We find injunctions many, addressed to fathers 
and mothers, parents and children, husbands and 
wives, and even to masters and servants, but none to 
monks and nuns ; a strange omission, methinks, if 
they were expected to form such a great and import- 
ant part of the church. I will not say that there hath 
not been good come out of these institutions in times 
past, but the state of life doth seem to me to be un- 
natural, and, considering the depravity of the human 
heart, likely to foster as much evil as good. Never- 
theless, I would have more charity and less haste used 
in the doing away with them, and with all my heart 
do I pity those poor ladies, wht), having no home, are 
turned out of their only shelter, and would gladly 
help them so far as it is in my power. I crave par- 
don, madam, if I offend in my speech. I am but a 
plain man, and since you would have my mind, I 
must needs speak plainly.” 

“ You give no offense, sir,” answered the lady ; and 
the same odd little half-smile hovered about her lips 
that I had seen once or twice before. “ So you are a 
reader of the Evangel?” 

“Ay, madam, the king’s grace now permits per- 
sons of my degree to read it openly.” 

“And is it your will, Loveday, to go with this 
worthy man ? ” 

“Yes, reverend mother, since mine uncle commands 
it,” said I, marveling at the question ; for when 
Master Davis spoke so plainly, and, above all, when he 


The Lightning Strikes Again . 133 

owned to reading the Bible, I had expected nothing 
less than a direct prohibition. 

“I believe you choose wisely,” said the reverend 
mother. 66 What means have you of carrying her, 
Master Davis ? ” 

“ I have brought a palfrey for her riding, madam, 
and I thought if any of the ladies wished to come up 
to London, they might do so under my escort and that 
of my servants.” 

“ I will inquire about that. Meantime, my daughter, 
go and make your preparations.” 

My few worldly goods were soon gathered together 
— very few they were — Mistress Davis had been 
thoughtful enough to send me a riding-dress and 
mask, such as were worn by people of her quality, and 
I was ready to take leave of the house where I had 
lived so long, and where I had thought to spend the 
rest of my days. The dear mothers gave me their 
blessing and farewells, and in a moment I was outside 
the gate. I have never seen the place again. The 
king kept it in his own hands for a time, and, I be- 
lieve, sojourned there more than once. After that, in 
King Edward’s reign, it was the home of Lady Anne 
of Cleves, the King’s divorced wife and adopted sister. 
Afterward, Queen Mary granted it to some preaching 
friars, who began a work of restoration which they 
had no time to finish. Kow it belongs to our good 
queen. 

To make an end here of the subject of nunneries — 
while I think great greed, injustice, falsehood, and 
cruelty were exercised in their abolition — I must 
needs say the land is well rid of them. The secrecy, 
and the absolute rule, gave opportunity to the exercise 


134 


Loveday's History . 


of much oppression and cruelty on the part of their 
rulers, and the victims had no redress. They were 
made use of, as I have said, by people who wished to 
get rid of inconvenient relations, and so many persons 
thus entered, who had no religious sentiment to sus- 
tain them, great disorders were likely to prevail (and 
often did) among companies of young persons with 
no natural outlet for the passions and affections which 
God himself hath implanted in our bosoms. Their pro- 
miscuous almsgiving did more harm than good, espe- 
cially with the cloistered orders, who had no means of 
judging who were worthy and who were mere idle beg- 
gars. Nevertheless, I will always maintain that the 
work of suppressing them was prompted far more by 
greed of gain than by any principle of right, and that 
it was carried on in many cases with great oppression 
and cruelty, as I have said. However, the king was not, 
after all, nearly so bad as Cardinal Wolsey, who be- 
gan the work with the full consent of the pope him- 
self. The king did grant pensions to the older men, 
and in some cases to the women ; which pensions have 
been paid with tolerable regularity.* (Father Austin 
receives his, but what he does with it I cannot say, 
since he can hardly spend it all in sweets for the chil- 
dren.) But the cardinal made no provision what- 
ever for those he turned out. Many of the younger 
nuns married, after a while. (The king changed his 
mind so often about that matter that it was hard to 
know what he would or would not have.) Others 
took service in families, like Sister Regina, who got a 
chambermaid’s place with my Lady Denny, and, I 

* The last of these pensioners died in the fifth year of James 
First. See Fuller, lor a good account of the inuUcr. 


Old Friends end Few, 135 

believe, filled it fairly well for a fool. Some, but I 
think not many, went wholly to the bad ; like Sister 
Perpetua, who, to be sure, had not far to go. Our 
honored mother went to her brother’s house, and he 
losing his wife soon after, she staid to govern his 
household, and brought up a large family of children 
who honored her as a mother. Mother Joanna went 
also to her own home, but she did not live long. Of 
the rest of the family I know nothing, save of old 
Adam, the gardener, who kept his place through all 
the changes, and died, nearly a hundred years old, in 
the reign of our present queen. 



CHAPTER VII. 

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 

0 here I was- once more thrown upon the 
world and going over the road I never 
thought to retrace again. It was a beau- 
tiful spring day, with flowers abloom and birds 
singing in every direction. As we paused on the 
top of a rise of ground and I looked back, I , re- 
membered all of a sudden that it was from this very 
place that I had first caught sight of Dartford 
priory. How I was leaving it behind me forever. 
I turned and looked at it. Nothing was changed 
outwardly. The commissioners had ordered the 
place cleared, and no one was to be seen moving 
save old Adam, who seemed to be going about his 
work as if nothing had happened. I believe the old 
man would have tied up his vines and hoed his vege- 
tables to the very last minute if he had known that 
the day of doom would come in an hour’s time. 

For a few minutes I could not forbear weeping at 
the thought of leaving those with whom I had lived so 
long. I had dearly loved most of the elders of the 
family, though I had never formed any great intimacy 
with those near my own age and standing. Grievously 
as I had disliked the idea of going to the house as a 




Old Friends And Few. 


137 


child, I had, upon the whole, been happy there. I 
had no deep religious feelings or principles at that 
time, and I had never dreamed of doubting what had 
been taught me. I had a great desire, indeed, to read 
the Scriptures for myself, but it was only the curiosi- 
ty which one has to see a famous book that one has 
heard about. I suppose the feeling that there was a 
kind of mystery about the matter might have had its 
effect in increasing that desire. Every one was kind 
to me. I had as few childish troubles and suffered as 
few corrections as fall to the lot of most children. I 
loved music and I loved learning languages, and op- 
portunity had been given me to indulge both these 
tastes. Yes, upon the whole, I had been happy at 
Dartford. 

“ We must not linger long, Mistress Corbet, if we 
would be at home before night ! ” said John Davis, 
gently. “ I blame not your regrets, but I trust you 
have yet much happiness and usefulness before you. 
I believe you may hope to serve God as well in the 
world as in yonder walls.” 

I could not but blush as I remembered that the 
thought of such service in one place or the other had 
not so much as crossed my mind. We put our horses 
in motion, and all at once my heart gave a great bound 
of exultation. I was free once more— -out in the world, 
with no walls to confine my footsteps and shut in my 
view. The very sight of the w T ide green fields and 
pastures, seemed to lift a load from my eyes and spir- 
its, of which I had all the time been dimly conscious. 
I looked with interest at every hall and cottage, at 
every woman whom I saw gathering of greens for 
her pot, or nursing her babe at her door, and I would 


138 Loveday's History. 

have liked to make one in every group of gossips 
that I saw collected round a well or at a street corner. 

But long before night my interest gave way to 
utter weariness, and I could think of nothing but 
when we should reach home. I had not been on 
horseback for many years, and a ride of fifteen 
miles was almost too much for me, strong as I was. 
We entered London at last, and reached my uncle’s 
old house about sunset. 

“ W elcome, Mistress Corbet,” said Master Davis, as 
he lifted me from my horse. “ Welcome to your old 
home. Mistress Davis will strive to make it as home- 
like as the house you have left.” 

Mistress Davis herself, having heard of our arrival, 
came forward and met me with a motherly kiss as I 
entered the hall where I had come, a tired, homesick 
child, eight years or more before. As I entered the 
parlor and saw the old furniture in the old accus- 
tomed places, a curious feeling of unreality came over 
me, as though my convent life had been all a dream ; 
and I more than half expected to see mine uncle 
seated in his own window and my aunt in hers, the 
one reading in his great book, the other darning of 
hosiery, or working at the white seam, in which she 
excelled. But the dream was quickly dispelled by the 
voice of Mistress Davis : 

“ Dear heart, and so you have come all the way 
from Dartford since eleven o’clock. How weary you 
must be. You shall have your supper directly, and 
go to your bed, and to-morrow you will be as fresh 
as a daisy. But you will like to wash before supper. 
My dear, I have such a poor head ; I cannot recall 
your name ! ” 


Old Friends And New . 


139 


“ Loveday Corbet, reverend mother — I mean 
madam,” I replied, confused at my mistake. 

“ Yes, yes, I remember,” said Mistress Davis. “ Phil- 
ippa, will you show Mistress Loveday her room ; and 
when you are ready, sweet chick, come down to the 
dining-room ; I dare say you know the way.” 

“ Yes, madam,” I answered. “ If you will kindly 
tell me which room I am to have, I will find it with- 
out troubling Mrs. Philippa,” 

“ Oh, I am sure it is no trouble. The front room 
on the third floor — that hung with the apostles, if 
you remember.” 

“ Oh yes, madam, it is my old room.” 

“ Let me carry your bundle,” said she whom Mistress 
Davis had called Philippa, coming forward and taking 
it from my hand. We passed up the familiar stair 
so familiar, yet so strange— and entered the very room 
from which I had witnessed Sambo’s recovery of 
the stolen flowers. It was hardly altered at all, save 
that the floor was strewn with rushes, a practice 
which my uncle had discarded. The very nosegay 
of flowers on the mantle might have been the same, 
only that they were spring, instead of autumn, posies. 
A pretty gown and petticoat of dark blue, with a linen 
hood, and other things belonging to a young lady’s 
dress, were neatly laid out on the bed. 

“My aunt hath provided you w T ith a complete 
change of raiment, you see ! ” said Mrs. Philippa, 
with a kind of bitterness in her tone which I did not 
then understand. 

“ She is very kind, indeed, to think of it,” said I, 
and, indeed, I did feel it to be a motherly and kind act, 
which made my heart warm toward the good woman. 


140 


Loveday's History. 


“ Oh, very !” answered Philippa, in the same odd 
tone. “ I will leave you to dress and then, perhaps, 
you can find your way down by yourself, as you 
know the house so well.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered, feeling a little confused 
and vexed, as well by something in her manner and 
the sharp scrutiny of her cold gray eyes. 

IsTot to keep my hostess waiting longer than was 
needful, I simply slipped off the riding gear which 
I had put on over my gray novice’s gown, made my- 
self as neat as I could at short notice, and went down 
as I had been bidden, to the dining-room, where I 
found the family already assembled — there being 
more children than I could reckon at one glance, all 
healthy and happy-looking, except Philippa. We 
took our places at the board, the youngest child 
present said a simple grace, and we all sat down. 
The meal was a plain one and plainly served, but all 
was good and abundant. 

“ You see all our flock at once, Mrs. Loveday,” 
said Master Davis, “all, that is, but my married son' 
and daughter, who have homes of their own.” 

“ These young ones should have been abed, I sup- 
pose,” chimed in Mistress Davis, “ but they begged 
to sit up till their father came, and I could not refuse 
them for once, poor hearts. Folks say I spoil my 
children sadly,” she added, whereat Philippa gave a 
scornful half smile ; “ but they are pretty good chil- 
dren, though I say it that shouldn’t ! ” 

“ I am sure they do not look spoiled,” said I, seeing 
that I was expected to speak ; and, indeed, they did 
not. A prettier, better ordered family of children I 
never saw. The supper was good, as I said, though 


Old Friends And New. 141 

plain, but I was too weary to eat, seeing which, Mis- 
tress Davis hastened the meal a little. When all had 
finished, she blew a little whistle and made a sign to 
the elder boy, who brought a great book from the side 
table and laid it before his father, while three or four 
servants and as many ’prentice lads entered and sat 
down at the lower end of the room. 

“ It is my custom, Mrs. Loveday, to read a chapter 
in the Holy Scriptures to my family night and morn- 
ing,” said John Davis, removing his cap as he spoke, 
“ but if you have any scruples of conscience concern- 
ing the same, you have leave to withdraw.” 

Philippa instantly rose, crossed herself and looked 
at me as if expecting me to do the same. But as I 
had no such scruple, and had moreover a great curios- 
ity about the matter, I sat still, whereat she went 
away, shutting the door with something like a slam. 

The chapter Master Davis read was that one from 
the Old Testament Scriptures concerning the 
beautiful story of the Shunamite woman and 
her child. He then turned over and read 
about the widow’s son of Nain, whom our Lord 
brought again from the dead. The reading finished, 
the vdiole family joined in the Paternoster, and Mas- 
ter Davis added a short prayer in English, asking for 
protection through the hours of darkness. The chil- 
dren and the ’prentices (there were but two, both 
quite little lads) then kissed his hand and received his 
blessing, and so all parted for the night. I cannot 
make any one understand how sweet and affecting 
was this picture of family life to me who had not 
seen it for so long. 

Mistress Davis herself was so kind as to see me to 


i42 


Xjoveday's History. 

my room. When there, she closed the door and ad- 
dressed herself to me in that same pretty, motherly 
way, yet not without a dash of dignity, which had 
made me love her at first sight. 

“ Mrs. Loveday, my dear, I have, as you see, pro- 
vided you with apparel suitable to your degree, and 
unless you make it a matter of conscience (with 
which I will by no means interfere), I should be glad 
to have you don it to-morrow.” 

I told her what was quite true, that I had no objec- 
tion, and that I would have changed my dress at 
once but for fear of keeping her waiting. I added 
that the reverend prioress had counseled me to be 
commanded and guided by her in all things.” 

“ Why, that is well,” said Mistress Davis, so evi- 
dently pleased by my ready compliance that I fancy 
she had expected something quite different. “You 
see, sweet chick, a conventual dress out of convent 
walls doth draw on remark, which is not pleasant or 
convenient for a young lady.” 

“ I can see that, madam ! ” said I. “ I will put on 
the pretty gown you have been so kind as to provide 
me in the morning. But, madam, is every one now 
permitted to have the Scripture and read it? ” 

“ Why, no, not every one,” she answered. “ Only 
those above a certain degree ; but we hope the time 
may come when it will be free to all. It is a blessed 
gift, used as it should be, able to make wise unto sal- 
vation. Well, good night, and God bless thee.” 

She kissed my cheek, as she spoke, and I kissed her 
hand. Then, quickly undressing and saying my pray- 
ers, I lay down, and, despite the novelty of the soft 
feather bed and fine sheets, smelling of lavender, I 


Old Friends And New. 


143 


was soon asleep. I started several times in the night 
at some noise in the street, hut, on the whole, I slept 
well, and awoke refreshed, hut at first greatly bewil- 
dered at the place in which I found myself and the 
novelty of the street-cries outside which fell on my 
ear, so long used to hear nothing on waking but the 
song of the early birds. I had often dreamed of 
waking in this very room, and now the reality seemed 
like a dream. At last I roused myself thoroughly, as 
I heard the house astir. I must needs confess, that it 
was with no small pleasure that I hung up my gray 
flannel robe, and arrayed myself in the clean body- 
linen, blue gown, and laced-hood and partlet ; nor 
was it without a sensation of gratified vanity, that I 
looked in the glass, and saw that the image reflected 
there was a reasonably fair one. Considering that I 
had not seen my own visage for so many years, I 
might be excused for lingering before it a little. I 
was at this time about eighteen, a well-grown, healthy- 
looking black* maid ; with a dark clear skin, which 
showed every change of color ; coal black brows, and 
dark eyes with long lashes, and very thick black hair, 
crisped to the roots and always wanting to stray into 
rebellious little curls about my brow and neck. Wal- 
ter used say my hair was never meant for a nun’s 
coif and veil. I don’t think I was vainer than other 
maids, but it is natural to young things to wish to 
look well, and, certainly, I was no exception to the 
rule. 

I said my prayers, and put my bed to rights, and 
then began looking about the room. All was very 

* A black person then, and long after, only meant one with 
black hair, not a negro. 




144 


JLovedcty's History. 


much as I had left it ; so much so that I half expected, 
on opening the garderobe, to find Katherine’s kirtle 
fallen from its nail, and Avice’s hanging primly in its 
place. A little door, which I did not remember, 
opened into a light closet, where was a small table, a 
chair and hassock, and a couple of books. I took up 
the larger volume, and was both delighted and sur- 
prised to find it a copy of the New Testament. I 
opened into the Gospel of St. Johri, but had no time 
to read more than a few words before a knock came 
to the door of my bedroom. I opened it, and there 
stood Philippa. 

“ My aunt has sent me to call you,” she began, and 
then, with a curious change of tone : “ So you have 
left off your gown and veil already. Well, it must be 
confessed, you have lost no time.” 

“ I have but done as Mistress Davis requested,” said 
I, feeling my cheek flame at the tone of supercilious 
reproof. 

“ Oh, you are very obedient, no doubt. I should 
suppose that you owed as much obedience to your 
religious vows as to — however, that kind of obedience 
is out of fashion now-a-days.” 

“ I have never taken any vows, Mrs. Philippa,” I 
answered. “ And the reverend mother bade me be 
guided by Mistress Davis in all things. I suppose 
she knows what is proper for young maids, as we are, 
better than we can ourselves.” 

“ Oh, very well ; I did not come to quarrel with you, 
but to call you to breakfast.” 

She turned round and I followed her, feeling dis- 
composed and uncomfortable. Mistress Davis’s moth- 
erly kiss and welcome, however, soon restored me. 


Old Friends And New. 


145 


“Why, this is well,” said she, leading me to . 
her husband, who entered the hall followed by a 
younger man, also in the grave, rich dress of a well- 
to-do merchant. Master Davis greeted me with a 
kindly smile and blessing, and presented me to his 
son ; who, it seemed, had come to take breakfast with 
his parents. I liked him as well as the other members 
of the family whom I had seen, and was particularly 
pleased with his deference to his mother. The older 
lads had already gone to school, but a little boy 
and two pretty little girls sat down with us, and I 
learned, accidentally, that the breakfast-hour had been 
deferred out of consideration for me, as I was sup- 
posed to be tired with my ride. But, indeed, break- 
fast, which is coming in many families to be as regu- 
lar a meal as dinner and supper, was little thought of 
in those days. The children took a piece of bread 
and a draught of milk in their hands, and their elders 
were content with a manchet and a cup of small ale, 
or mead. I hear that people in London now have 
some trouble in getting good milk, but there was 
abundance of milk-kine kept in the city boundaries 
in my time. 

When I had drunk my basin of milk and eaten, I 
know not what dainty cake wherewith Mistress Davis 
had provided me, Master Davis called me into the 
parlor, saying he wished to have some talk with me. 
“So, Mrs. Loveday, I dare say you are impatient to 
hear somewhat of your uncle’s family,” said he kindly. 

“ I have borrowed an hour or so from business to talk 
of your affairs. Please you, be seated.” 

I courtesied, and took the chair he set for me. 

“ You will naturally wish to hear first of my good 


146 


Loveclay's History . 


friend, your uncle’s affairs,” said he, placing himself 
in the great chair where mine uncle used to sit. “I 
wish, from my heart, I could give you later and bet- 
ter news of him. The last letter I had from him was 
written, almost two years ago, from Antwerp. In it, 
after praying me to have a care of yourself and your 
fortunes, he gave me to wit, that having trusted too 
far a factor whom he employed, and having lost 
largely by him, he was about removing to some town 
in Holland, where he hath had correspondence, and 
where he hoped to retrieve his fortunes. He was 
somewhat undecided where to settle, but said he would 
write me when he had, as he said, pitched his tent 
once more. Since then, I have not heard from him.” 

Here was a fine downfall of all the airy castles I 
had been building ever since I read mine uncle’s last 
letter. I bit my lip, and had much ado not to burst 
out weeping. 

“ Be not too much cast down, dear maid,” resumed 
Master Davis, marking my emotion. “ I hope all 
will yet prosper with your uncle, and that you will 
be able to join him. I have written again by a sure 
hand to a mutual friend in Antwerp, and, besides, 
an y day may bring a letter fronk your kinsman. 
Meantime, rest assured that you are most welcome to 
a daughter’s place in this house. My good wife’s 
heart is large enough to hold a dozen more like you, 
besides our own brood, and all our grandchildren ; and 
my own, believe me, is not less spacious. Is not that 
true, dame?” he added, appealing to his wife, who 
had just entered. “ Can not your wings spread wide 
enough to brood another chick ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed; half a dozen, if they will but be 


Old Friends And New . 


14 ? 


peaceable and not peck one another,” answered the 
good mistress, whose smooth brow seemed a little 
ruffled, I thought. “I am sure if Mistress Corbet 
does but turn out half as towardly as she seems, it 
will be a pleasure to have her in the house. But we 
must take some order for her clothes. Canst sew, 
sweet heart ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, madam ; I can both sew and knit,” I 
answered. 

“ That is more than I can — the knitting, I mean,” 
said Mistress Davis. “ My sister, who is a waiting 
gentlewoman to the Duchess of Suffolk, says her lady 
knows the art, but I have never even seen it. Then, 
I dare say, you will not mind making your own 
linen.” 

“ Oh, no, madam ; indeed, I shall like it, only — ” 

“ Well, only what, chick ?” 

“ Only I have none to make,” said I, with the out- 
spoken bluntness natural to me, and which I had never 
unlearned, even in the convent. “ I have no money 
to buy any, either, and it seems hard that you, madam, 
should provide it for me, when you have such a flock 
of your own.” 

“ Care not for that, sweet heart,” said Master Davis. 
“ Heaven hath, as you say, given us a flock, but it 
hath also given us abundance wherewith to maintain 
it.” 

“ And I dare say, you will be able to give me help 
about the ordering of the household and the children,” 
added his wife, with that quick consideration which 
distinguished her. 

“ I should like that,” said I. “ I might teach the 
children music, if you would. I can play both upon 


148 


Lovedciy's History . 


the lute and the little and great organ, and I can read 
both French and Latin.” 

“ So much the better for you. ‘ Learning is light 
luggage,’ my gaffer used to say. The children go to 
school at present, but I shall find a way to make you 
useful, never fear. Do you come with me now, and 
we will see what is most needed.” 

I followed her to my own room, where I found a 
piece of fine Hollands and some stuffs for dresses, 
with a piece of rich sober silk, laid out on my bed. 

“ You see, chick, you, being a gentlewoman born, 
may wear silk, and even velvet, which we merchants’ 
wives must be content to forego,” said Mistress Davis, 
smiling. 

“ But indeed, Mistress Davis, I would rather not 
wear silk. I would far rather dress as you do,” said 
I, earnestly. “ Silk attire is surely not for one like 
me, who hath nothing she may call her own. Please 
do not ask me to wear silk.” 

“ Well, well, it shall be as you please. But, dear 
love, do not let the thought of dependence worry 
you. Above all, let it not embitter you. Re- 
member, we poor creatures are all dependent on 
each other, first, and last upon our Heavenly Father, 
who giveth to all his dear children what He sees best 
for them in particular. How let me take your meas- 
ure, and then, when we have some sewing ready, you 
shall bring your work down to the parlor, if you will.” 

Mistress Davis’s deft hands soon had some shifts 
ready for the needle. I had brought my working things 
from the convent, and I soon found myself in the 
very low chair in the bow-window, which had been 
mine so long ago. But alas, my dear aunt was no 




Old Friends and New . 


149 


longer in her old place, which was filled by the much 
less substantial form of Mistress Davis, while Phil- 
ippa’s somber face and figure was but a poor repre- 
sentative of the beautiful twins, my cousins. 

I glanced at Philippa, now and again, as I pursued 
my work, and answered Mistress Davis’s questions 
about my life in Dartford. She was a tall, well-made 
girl, and would have been handsome but for her for- 
mal manners, and the cold, and what I may call the 
arrogant expression of her large gray blue eyes, that 
looked as if she were taking ever one’s measure and 
comparing it with some standard of her own. She 
was dressed in black, made as nearly as might be in 
conventual fashion, and wore conspicuously at her 
side a long rosary with a crucifix attached. Mistress 
Davis expressed a most kindly interest in our poor 
sisters, and hoped they had homes wherein to bestow 
themselves. I told her that I knew some of them 
had, and mentioned the prioress and Mother Joanna. 

“ And yet the change will be very great for them,” 
said she. “Poor things, one cannot but pity them.” 

Philippa raised her head as if to speak, but at that 
moment Mistress Davis was called out of the room, 
and she addressed herself to me. 

“ You seem to take the change easily enough, and 
even to enjoy it,” said she. 

“Well, I do,” I answered, frankly. “Of course, I 
was sorry to leave my old friends, especially as they 
were in so much trouble, but a convent life was never 
my choice for myself nor mine uncle’s for me.” 

“ You had no real vocation, then?” 

“ No, I think not ; and indeed, I hardly know what 
it means,” I answered. 


150 


Loveday's History. 


“ Zhad ! ” said Philippa, proudly. “ ./have always 
had a vocation, ever since I was a child, but my father 
never would consent, or Master Davis either. I have 
money enough, however, and when I am twenty-two 
it will be all mine own. Then I can do as I like, and 
I shall go into a religious house directly.” 

“ From the way things are going there are not like 
to be many religious houses by that time, ” said I. 

“ There will be convents enough abroad if not 
here,” said Philippa. “ Besides, things may change 
here.” 

“ That is true,” said I ; “ but from what I have 
seen I should think that one might be very happy in 
this house.” 

“ Happiness is not my object ! ” answered Philippa. 
“ What ./seek is a life of self-denial.” 

“And so you mean to take your own way the 
moment it is in your power ! ” I thought, but I did 
not say it. At that moment Mistress Davis returned 
to the room, bringing with her a pretty, pleasant-look- 
ing lady whom she presented to me as her married 
daughter, Mistress Margaret Hall, come to spend the 
day at home. I took a fancy to her directly, and we 
were soon chatting pleasantly together. She had some 
lace work in hand with which she had got into diffi- 
culty, and I was able to set her right, having served 
my apprenticeship to that kind of work under Mother 
Joanna. The convent schools did have that advant- 
age — they taught girls to use their fingers. Mistress 
Hall looked over with great interest while I picked 
out and untwisted, showing her where she had gone 
wrong. 

“ Many thanks, Mistress Loveday ! ” said she pleas- 


Old Friends And New. 


151 


antly, when I had restored the frame to her. “ You 
have plenty of finger wit, I see.” 

“ More of finger wit than head wit, perhaps ! ” said 
Philippa, with that kind of smile which says — “ see 
how superior I am.” “I believe they do not often go 
together.” 

“I am not sure of that,” I answered. “ Sister 
Cicely, our organist, of whom I learned music, was 
the most beautiful seamstress I ever saw, and people 
came from far and near to hear her playing.” 

“ Then you play the organ ? ” said Margaret, eager- 
ly ; and, as I assented, she went on — “ you must come 
and try my husband’s. He bought it at one of the 
convents which have been closed lately, and had it set 
up in our house. You must come and play for us.” 

“ I should be very glad to do so, ” I answered — 
whereat Philippa said, with emphasis : 

“You are very much favored, Mistress Loveday. 
Cousin Margaret Hall never asked me to play for 
her.” 

“ I did not know that you played,” said Margaret. 

“ Ho, and you never tried to find out. Oh, you 
need not excuse yourself. For my part I would not 
have such an instrument in my house — I should expect 
it to bring a curse upon me.” 

“ It is better in my parlor than broken up for the 
sake of the lead ! ” said Margaret, rising. “ Mistress 
Loveday, would you not like to go over the house ? ” 

I arose with alacrity. It was just what I had been 
longing to do. Margaret did not ask Philippa to go 
with us, for which I was very glad. We left her to 
her own meditations, and went first up to the attic 
from which (the house being much higher than its 


152 Loveday’s History. 

neighbors) we bad a very nice view over the city. I 
looked at once for the little, old almshouses where I 
was wont to go with my aunt and cousins, but I could 
not find them at all. 

“ Where is the green field where the almshouses 
used to stand ? ” said I. “ I am sure we used to see it 
from here.” 

“ There is still a bit of it left — yonder by that old 
tree ! ” answered Mistress Hall. You may also see 
two or three of the cottages, but no one has been put 
there for a long time. My husband heard that the 
whole ground was to be granted to some great man 
about the court ! ” 

“ What a shame ! ” said I. Mistress Hall put her 
finger on her lip. 

“ Blame not the king — no, not in thy bed-chamber ! ” 
said she. “ There are more than you that think so, 
but no one dares speak as things are now, and it be- 
hooves us specially to be careful, being always in dan- 
ger of an attaint of heresy.” 

“ You are of the new religion then ? ” I ventured to 
say. 

“Nay, we are of the old religion — as old as the 
Word of God himself,” said she smiling sweetly. 
“My husband, like my father, reads the Holy Scrip- 
ture in his family every day. I suppose, dear maiden^ 
it is new to you.” 

I told her I had never seen more of it than I had 
read in mine uncle’s great book as a child, adding that 
I had been taught to think it was at the peril of sal. 
vation that common, unlearned folk meddled with the 
word of Scripture, which was the reason that it was 
kept in the Latin. 


Old Friends And New. 


153 


“ The multitudes who followed our Lord on earth 
and listened to his blessed words, and the thousands 
who heard the discourses of Saint Peter and the other 
apostles, were doubtless most of them unlearned men. 
Yet our Lord and the apostles spoke to them in what 
was then the vulgar tongue ! ” said Mistress Hall, 
gently. “ Did they then put these poor souls in peril 
of their salvation ? And for what was the wonderful 
gift of tongues bestowed upon the apostles, save that 
the common people where they traveled might hear, 
each in the tongue wherein he was born, the wonder- 
ful works of God ? ” 

“ I never thought of that ! ” said I, “ and to tell you 
truth, Mistress Hall, I never thought much about it.” 

“ But you will think, dear maiden ! ” said she, with a 
sweet eagerness. “ You will read and think, and 
ask for aid and light from above to understand.” 

I had no time to make any promise, for at that 
moment one of the maids came to find us, with a 
message from Mistress Davis, that dinner would soon 
be ready. Mistress Hall thanked her, and asked after 
her mother. 

“ It seems to me that I have seen you before,” said 
I, as the maid answered that her mother was well. 

Cicely blushed and answered modestly that she re- 
membered me quite well, adding, 

“ But you were a very young lady then. Do you 
remember the night that you came with your uncle to 
Goodman’s farm, and the kind gentleman gave Dame 
Goodman a piece of silver and bade her fill my 
pitcher ? ” 

“ Oh yes ; you are little Cicely Higgins,” said I. 
“ You went with your mother to live with John Blunt 


154 Loveday's History . 

and his wife at the almshouse. What has become of 
them ? ” 

“ They are both dead,” answered the maid, quietly. 
Then making a courtesy, she went away. 

“ That is a nice girl ; I am glad she has so good a 
home,” said I. 

“ Yes ; any one who lives with my step-dame has a 
good home,” answered Mistress Hall. “ I would all 
knew it as well as poor little Cicely. Tell me, Mistress 
Loveday, do you think my husband guilty of sacrilege 
because he bought a convent organ to save it from 
the fire and the melting-pot ? ” 

“ Not in the least,” I answered. “I only wish he 
had that one I used to play on at Dartford.” 

“ Sometimes I wish Philippa could have her way 
and go into a convent,” said Mistress Hall. “ Perhaps 
she would be more content.” 

“ I think it would be an excellent thing,” I answered. 
“ A month or two under Mother Joanna and a few 
times of bread and water, and being set to scour the 
flags on her hands and knees, would teach her to keep 
her tongue in better order.” 

“ After all, that would be but an outward reforma- 
tion,” said Mistress Hall, thoughtfully. “ It skills 
not keeping silence when the heart is full of anger 
and uncharitableness.” 

“ Under your favor, I think it skills a good 
deal,” I could not help saying. “At least, one does 
not vex others, and besides, in mine own case, 
when I am angry, I find the more I say the angrier I 
grow.” 

“Perhaps you are right so far as that goes,” 
answered Margaret ; “but I pray you have patience 


Old Friends And New. 155 

with poor Philippa. It is hard for her to have her 
will so constantly crossed.” 

“ She would have it crossed with a good crab-tree 
twig an she were a pupil of our house in Dartford,” said 
I, and there the matter ended for the present. When we 
went down to dinner, we found the party increased by 
Master Hall, Margeret’s husband, a tall, stout man, 
big enough to put his delicate little wife in his 
pocket, and with a face beaming with good-nature, 
which his manner did not belie. The elder children 
took their dinner at the schools, which were at some 
distance, but the little ones came to the table and it 
was clear by their smiles and looks that their big 
brother-in-law was a welcome guest. I was especially 
pleased by the respectful affection which both Master 
and Mistress Hall showed to their step-dame ; but, in- 
deed, it would be a hard heart that did not love Mis- 
tress Davis. Of course I did not speak before my 
elders at table, but I listened with all my ears. I 
found out that Master Hall was a bookseller Ln St. 
Paul’s Churchyard, and had a license to print and sell 
Bibles. I gathered that he was not as rich as his 
father-in-law, and indeed Mistress Hall’s .dress was 
plain compared to that of her step-mother, or even 
mine own, though it was most becomingly fancied 
and as neat and fresh as a daisy. The talk was most 
interesting to me, running as it did on the sale and 
use of books, especially Bibles. 

“The demand increases more and more,” said 
Master Hall. “We cannot work our presses fast 
enough to supply it. But I hear some new restriction 
is to be put upon the sale and use of the books.” 

“I am sorry for that,” said his wife. “I would 


156 


Loveday's History . 


fain see the time when every plowman and shep- 
herd might have a Bible of his own.” 

“ That time will surely come — or so I think,” re- 
marked her father, “ though perhaps not in our day. 
But these young ones may live to see it.” 

“ I fear, indeed, it will not be in our day,” said Master 
Hall. “ There are those about His Majesty that 
would willingly close, if not burn, every English 
Bible in the land.” 

“ But not the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said 
Master Davis. 

“No ; His Grace would, like my wife, put it into 
the hands of all, gentle or simple.” 

The talk then drifted away to other matters, and 
when we rose from table, Master Davis proposed we 
should seek the summer-house in the garden. 

“ Do so, and I will send you wine and sweetmeats,” 
said Mistress Davis. “Then you can talk of your 
business matters, and we women will sit under the 
great apple tree, sew our seams, and talk of affairs 
level with our comprehension.” 

Wherat the men laughed, though I did not see the 
joke. Mistress Davis asked me to help her in the or- 
dering of the banquet,* and I was glad to do so. (I 
never do feel thoroughly at home in any house till I 
get into the pantry and kitchen.) Margaret was busy 
with the little girls, and I saw them showing her their 
work, and the clothes they had been making for their 
dolls. 

“Yes, Joan and Nelly are quite happy now they 

* A banquet was wbat we should now call a dessert of fruits 
and sweetmeats piled upon wooden trays and trimmed with 
flowers. It was often set before callers. 


Old Friends And New . 157 

can have Sister Margaret all to themselves,” said 
Dame Davis. 

“You would never guess for as simple as she sits 
there, that Margaret can read the New Testament in 
the Greek tongue, wherein it was written, and correct 
the press for her husband’s edition of Piato his Dia- 
logues. Now, would you ? ” 

“ I think I could believe any thing that was good 
of Mistress Hall,” I answered warmly. 

“ And you may well and safely do so,” said her 
step-mother. “ Yes, that is very pretty,” as I 
handed her a dish of fruit I had arranged. “ Believe 
me, you cannot have a better or safer friend than 
Margaret. With all her learning, she is simple as a 
child and defers to me as though I were her own 
mother. There, I think that will do nicely. And 
now we will take our own work and sit down under 
the tree, and you will give us the pleasure of hear- 
ing you sing, will you not ? I see you have 
brought your lute with you.” 

I was only too glad to do aught which could please 
my kind hostess. I do not know when I ever spent a 
pleasanter afternoon than that. I sang all the songs 
I knew — which were not many — and then Margaret 
told us some tales she had read, and by degrees, I 
know not how, she gently led us to serious talk upon 
religion and kindred topics. 

“ Oh, how I do wish you knew our dear reverend 
mother, Mistress Hall ! ” I could not help saying at 
last ; whereat she smiled and said : 

“ Why, do you think we should agree ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, you would,” I answered. “ You have 
made me think of her so many times this afternoon.” 


158 


Loveday's History. 


At this Philippa, who had sat by stiff and silent, 
tossed up her chin and said : 

“ She must be a strange lady prioress if she is like 
Margaret.” 

“ How many lady prioresses did you ever know ?” 
asked Mistress Davis. 

“ Philippa would say I am not like her notion of 
what a lady prioress should be, I suppose ! ” said Mar- 
garet. “But tell us of this good friend of yours, 
Mistress Loveday, if you will. I have always been 
curious about convent life.” 

“ I don’t know where to begin,” said I. 

“ Oh, begin at the beginning and tell us how you 
spent your day. What was the first thing in the 
morning ? ” 

So I began and told — as we say in the west country 
— for an hour. The elder children were at home by 
this time, and they also gathered round to hear. 
When I had finished — 

“You seem to have led quiet, peaceful lives enow,” 
observed Margaret ; “ but I should think such an un- 
varying life would have been rather wearisome, and 
that a person leading it on for years would be almost 
childish. Did you never have any study ? ” 

“ I used to do my Latin lessons with poor Sister 
Denys, and afterward with Father Austin,” said I ; 
“but we never read any thing but the Imitation and 
some lives of saints. I began Caesar’s Commentaries 
when 1 studied with Father Austin, but I never got 
on very far.” 

“ You shall finish it with- me if you will,” said Mar- 
garet. “ And we will also have some poetry. Latin 
is a noble tongue.” 


Old Friends And New. 


159 


“Yes, a tongue more fit for the Scriptures and the 
church service than common English ! ” said Phil- 
ippa. 

“But Latin was also the vulgar tongue of the 
Romans, wasn’t it, Sister Margaret ? ” asked one of the 
boys. “ That is the reason the Latin Bible is called 
the Vulgate, so our master said. He said St. Jerome 
put it in Latin that every one might read it.” 

“ Yes, that is very likely,” answered Philippa, con- 
temptuously. “No doubt he knows all about it. 
Latin is the sacred language of the church, not like 
that profane Greek and Hebrew which was used only 
by heathen and by wicked Jews.” 

“But the Scripture was written in Greek and 
Hebrew in the first place ; was it not, sister ? ” asked 
Amyas, eagerly. “ I am sure the master said so, and I 
suppose he is right. Do you think you know more 
than our head- master, Cousin Philippa?” 

“ Gently, gently, little brother ! ” said Margaret. 
“Your master would also tell you that one maybe 
right in a wrong way. ‘ Dc you think you* know more 
than so-and-so,’ is not very good logic, neither is it 
verj good manners, especially when addressed to 
one older than yourself.” 

At this the lad blushed and hung down his head, 
but presently raised it and said frankly, “ I beg your 
pardon, Cousin Philippa. But was it not so, sister ? ” 

“Yes, you are right, so far. The Old Testament 
was written in Hebrew, as most, if not all, of the New 
Testament was in the Greek tongue. Scholars are now 
beginning to give great attention to the Hebrew.” 

“ Yes, my sister wrote me that His Grace of Suffolk 
gives some chaplaincy or the like to a young man — a 


160 


Loveday's History . 


secular priest — who hath come up from the west 
country expressly to study the Hebrew,” said Mistress 
Davis. 

“ I dare say that might be the same young priest 
who was in our shop yesterday,” observed Margaret. 
“ He was a fair Grecian for one of his years, and was 
asking for some one with whom to learn Hebrew.” 

“ I wish I might learn Greek ! ” said Amyas. 

“ All in good time ! ” returned his mother. “ And 
you, Hal ? ” 

“ Not I ! ” answered Hal, the younger boy. “ I 
would rather be a sailor, and sail away to the Indies, 
like Columbus, than to be poring over little crooked 
letters, all dots and spots, like those you showed us 
the other day, sister.” 

“ Why that may be in good time, too,” said Marga- 
ret. “Who knows what new lands you may dis- 
cover ? ” 

“ We shall all discover rheums and quacks,* if we 
sit here much longer,” said Mistress Davis. “ Do you 
not perceive how the east wind hath come up ? Let 
us go into the house.” 

We had several guests to supper. Young Master 
Davis and his wife, a pretty, lively little body ; two 
or three grave merchants, and an elderly priest, with 
one of the finest faces I ever saw — full of sweetness 
and gravity. I was presented to him, and learned 
that his name was Hooper. The talk at table was 
cheerful and pleasant, at times falling into a serious 

* “ Colds in the head/’ as we call them, were rather new at 
that time, and were called quacks, hence the term of quack 
doctors. Old fashioned folks laid them to the introduction of 
chimneys. 


Old Friends and Few. 


161 


vein, and again full of jest and humor. When the 
meal was done, the great Bible was again produced, 
but this time Master Davis handed it to Dr. blooper. 
He chose out the twenty-third Psalm, and made an 
exposition thereon, so sweet and tender, yet vigorous 
withal, as I think nothing could be better, unless it 
were the very Word itself. I remember, he specially 
insisted on that little word my. 

“ That is the way throughout Scripture,” said he. 
u And so it must ever be with those who are called 
into the kingdom. It is and must be my Shepherd, 
my King, our Father, our Saviour. He may be what 
he is to all the rest of the world, but till I can say He 
is mine , I am nothing the better.” 

After he had finished speaking, he prayed — not in 
any form that I had ever heard, but in his own words, 
and such a prayer I never heard. It was as though 
his very eyes saw the one to whom he spoke with the 
freedom of a loving and dutiful' child. Then we all 
repeated the Paternoster in English, and our guests 
went away, the ladies giving me many kind and press- 
ing invitations to visit them. 

As I went to my room I met Philippa, who asked 
me if I had a book of Hours, such as they used in the 
convent. I told her I had, whereat she asked me to 
lend it to her — adding, with her usual bitterness : 

“I suppose you will not care for it, now that you 
have taken up with the new lights.” 

“ I have not taken up with any new lights that I 
know of,” I answered. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“Oh, it is very easy to see. You are quite carried 
away with Mistress Hall’s sweet ways and flatteries, 
and she will make you as great a heretic as herself. 


162 Lor edccy's History. 

You must needs stay to hear that old apostate hold 
forth, to-night. Oh, yes ; it is easy to see which 
way the wind blows, Mistress Loveday. But there 
is no use in saying a word in this house, when even 
that malapert Amyas is put up to affront me, and 
Mistress Davis, my aunt, finds fault if I do but put a 
stitch awry in my mending. All I can do is to wait 
with what patience I can, till I can go to the convent. 
There I shall find peace.” 

“I do not believe you will find it there, unless you 
take it thither with you,” said I. “And I can tell 
you more than that, Philippa. If you had answered 
the reverend mother, or even one of the elder sisters, 
as you did your aunt and Mistress Hall two or three 
times to-day, you would have been made to kneel and 
kiss the ground, if, indeed, you had not tasted the 
discipline of the rod. I saw Sister Blandina made to 
clean the wash-house floor on her hands and knees be- 
cause she gave mother assistant a pert answer about 
some dusting she was ordered to do. How would 
you like that? You found fault with your meat to- 
day at table, and your aunt said nothing, only helped 
you to another bit. If you had done that as a novice, 
you would have had no more that day, except, per- 
haps, the leavings on the sisters’ plates.” 

Philippa looked rather blank. “ But 1 am going 
into a Carthusian house,” said she. I could not for- 
bear laughing. 

“ W orse and worse. There you will get no meat 
at all, and only fish on feast days. You will have 
no linen to mend, because you will have none to 
wear, and so far from speaking back as you did 
to Mistress Davis, you will not be permitted to 


Old Friends And New. 163 

speak at all, save in answer to a question from your 
superiors.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ I heard all about it from one of our sisters, a very 
nice woman who came to our house when her own was 
put down. She said she never spoke during her novi- 
tiate, unless she were spoken to.” 

Philippa pouted and patted her foot on the floor. 
“ I believe you are only trying to scare me,” said she. 

“ You may ask any one who knows,” I answered. 
“Sister Dominica did not know what to make of our 
easy ways at first, and yet our discipline was not lax 
by any means.” 

a Children, what are you doing ? ” asked Mistress 
Davis, coming up stairs. “ ’Tis time you were abed, 
and asleep.” 

“There it goes,” muttered Philippa. “Always in- 
terfering.” 

“ Philippa came to borrow a book,” said I. 

“ Oh, very well. There is no harm done. Good 
night.” 

“ Here is the book,” said I, producing it ; “ only 
please be careful — ” for she took it in a very heedless 
way by one cover. “ It is very dear to me, because 
our mother gave it me a present from her own hand, 
and there are some of her paintings in it.” 

Philippa instantly laid the volume on the table. 
“ I will not take it if you are so dreadfully afraid of 
it,” said she. “ I did not guess I was asking such a 
favor. But that is always the way. One would think 
that I did nothing else but spoil things. I don’t 
want the book if you are afraid of my spoiling it by 
only looking at it.” 


164 


Loveday's History . 


I suppose she thought I was going to urge it 
upon her, hut she was mistaken. My own temper 
was up by that time, and I quietly turned from her, 
took the book and laid it away, and bidding her a 
short good-night, I shut the door. I sat a few 
minutes by the open casement to cool my face and 
also my spirit, and then I said my prayers and went 
to bed. It was all saying prayers at that time. 
The words never went deeper than my lips, or at most 
I thought of them as a sort of charm, the repeating 
whereof might propitiate some unknown power and 
save us from some unknown danger. I don’t say this 
is the case with all Roman Catholics by any means, 
but I know it is with a great many. They gabble 
over their rosary with no more devotion than a village 
child goes over the criss-cross row*, or the pence 
table, and from much the same motive, because they 
expect to be beaten if they do not know their lesson. 

*The criss-cross row is the alphabet, always preceded in the 
old primers and horn books by a cross. Few people who use 
the word are aware of its origin. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

HER GRACE’S GENTLEWOMAN. 

STAID with Master Davis two months 
or more, always hoping to hear from my 
uncle and always disappointed. Every one 
was kind to me. Master and Mistress Davis treated 
me like a daughter in every respect, and I strove to 
behave like a dutiful child to them. Mistress Davis 
found me plenty to do, knowing, dear soul that she 
ever was, that to make me useful was the way to 
to make me feel at home. I have learned a good 
many precious recipes for distilling and preserving, 
and I liked nothing better than putting them in prac- 
tice. Then Mistress Andrew Davis fell in love with my 
playing, and must needs have me give her lessons on 
the clarichord. She had a fair talent for music, and a 
sweet, bird like voice, and I shall never forget her 
pretty, child-like joy when she was able to surprise 
her grave husband with a song and a lesson on the 
instrument he had given her. I pursued my Latin 
and French, and persuaded Mistress Davis to let me 
begin to teach the little Helen to read. She proved 
an apt scholar, and we had pleasant times over our 
books. 

It was a wonderful new world that opened to me 



166 Loveday's History . 

during those two months. As I said, I never in my 
life before had any deep convictions of religion. I 
had gone through the usual routine in the convent 
just as I worked my lace and sewed my white 
seam, but that was all. I had a great dread of death, 
and when any thing brought it home to me, I would 
redouble my observances and try to feel as I sup- 
posed really religious people felt. But it was all 
outside of me, so to speak. I believed in God, of 
course, but it was as a stern judge I thought of him — 
not by any means as a tender Father. The blessed 
Virgin was, indeed, kind and gentle, and if I coaxed 
her enough, she would perhaps command her son to 
be good to me at that dreadful day of doom. But 
ever and always in the background of my mind — that 
is, after I began to think at all — was that fearful 
specter of Purgatory, the dread ordeal which must 
be passed before I could hope for the smallest 
taste of the bliss of Paradise. I do not mean 
to say that this was the case with all of our num- 
ber. Some sweet souls there were who sucked the 
honey in spite of the thorn, and albeit sorely cum- 
bered and distressed by the barriers which the 
pride and folly of men had piled in their way, did 
find access to the very Mercy Seat. Some found a 
real satisfaction in piling up prayer upon prayer, 
observance upon observance, thinking they were 
thereby heaping up merit not only for themselves 
but their friends. Others, and they were the 
most, were content to perform such tasks as they 
could not escape, in as easy a manner as possible, 
trusting to their religious profession and the offices 
of their patron saint to help them out at the last. 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman . 167 

I had all my life been curious about books, ever 
since a chit of five years old, I had tumbled off a 
joint-stool whereon I had climbed to look at the 
great volume of the Morte d’ Arthur which lay in the 
window seat in the hall. I got a sound switching 
across my fingers for meddling, but neither the switch- 
ing nor the tumble cured me of my hunger for books. 
This hunger had very little to feed it at Dartford, 
but it never died out, and I used to read over and 
over the few volumes we had till I knew them by 
heart. It was not to be supposed that with such a 
disposition I would let the New Testament lie very 
long on my table without looking into it. I chanced 
to begin at the first chapter of the Acts of the Apos- 
tles — that wonderful book, which always seems tome 
to have the rushing, mightjr wind of the Pentecost 
blowing through it from beginning to end. It was a 
Sunday afternoon, I remember, and the streets were 
full of people waiting to see the King pass by going 
to see some great lord. I was not well, yet not so ill 
but I was sitting up by my window to watch the 
show. To while away the time, I took up the book, 
and I soon became so lost in it that the whole pageant 
passed by without my seeing it at all. I was 
still deep in its pages when Mistress Davis came to 
see how I fared, and so fully was I absorbed in the 
story that when she asked me where I had been, I 
answered her — 

“ At Jerusalem, madam ! ” 

Whereat she laughed, and answered that it was a 
good place to be of a Sunday,” adding more seriously : 
“ But I see how it is, and right glad am I to see you 
so well employed. Only remember this, chick : the 


168 


Loveday's History . 


Scripture is not made to be read for diversion, 
like a Canterbury tale, or even like any other good 
book. ’Tis the Lord’s own word sent down for the 
comfort of us poor sinners, and to guide us to that 
Home which He hath prepared for them that love 
Him ; and as such, we must study it with reverence 
and ask for the enlightenment of the Spirit to be 
shed on its pages.” 

This was a new idea to me, and I closed the volume 
for that time with a strange bewilderment of ideas. 
I could not sleep for thinking of it, and the more I 
thought, the more bewildered I became. Here was a 
history of the first age of the church under the 
apostles themselves, and yet not a word said about 
the worship of the Holy Mother, the adoration of 
saints, the sacrifice of the mass, and many other 
things which I had been led to consider essential to 
salvation. 

“ But perhaps they are in the Epistles and Gospels,” 
I thought, “ only it is very strange that no more 
should be said about the Holy Mother after the first 
chapter, and that then she should only be spoken of 
in the same way as the other women.” 

But when I came to read the Gospels it was sur- 
prise piled upon surprise. At first it was sheer enjoy- 
ment. How lovely were those narratives into which 
I threw myself with an earnestness which made me 
forget every thing else for the time being. How real 
to me were the gatherings to hear the word, the feed- 
ing of the multitudes, the sower who went forth to 
sow, the laborers waiting to be hired and grumbling 
over their pay, not because they had not enough, but 
because some one else had as much. 




Her Grace's Gentlewoman. 169 

But by degrees other thoughts occupied my mind 
and heart. I began to compare myself with the full 
requirements of God’s holy law. I stood for the first 
time face to face with that awful spirit whom men call 
Conviction of Sin. I was shown that I was con- 
demned under the law, and unless some way of escape 
were provided there was nothing before me but de- 
struction — nay, that I was condemned already. My 
first thought was to reform myself ; but it seemed 
to me that the more I tried the worse I grew. I am 
sure 1 never in all my life gave way so far to temper 
and fretfulness (always my besetting sins) as at that 
time. Looking back at those days I can not but 
wonder at the wise and tender patience of Master 
and Mistress Davis toward me. As for Philippa, I 
don’t think I am uncharitable when I say that she 
openly exulted over every outburst. But I .don’t 
mean to speak of her more than I can help it. She 
was, indeed, one of those thorns in the side which 
seem to have no other use than to try the patience of 
those who are affected by them, and which only 
rankle the more the more they are plucked at. 

Thus was I shut up under the law, and that which 
was ordained to life I found to be unto death. It 
was Margaret Hall who led me out of this prison into 
the light and life of heaven. She had me to stay 
with her under pretext of having my help in correct- 
ing the press, which I had learned to do with toler- 
able dexterity. She was one of those blessed saints 
whose very presence is comfort though they do not 
speak. By degrees she won from me the secret of my 
trouble, and then taking my hand, as it were, she led 
me to the fountain opened for sin, and showed me 


170 Loveday's History . 

that spring of living water which has never failed me 
since, though, woe is me, I have many a time choked 
its overflow, and turned from it to those broken 
cisterns that can hold no water. 

Oh, what a load she took from my mind. I was, as 
1 suppose a man might be who had worn fetters ever 
since he could remember, and though dimly conscious 
of them did not fully know their weight and hinder- 
ance till they were struck off. It was as a new crea- 
ture that I came back to Master Davis’s friendly 
roof. 

But those were trying times — in some respects more 
trying even than the more bloody days that came 
under Queen Mary. Then, at least, one knew what to 
expect. The king was growing more and more in- 
firm and capricious all the time, and worked changes 
in church and state till it took a good head to know 
what was heresy and treason and what was not. 
Already my Lord Cromwell had been filled with the 
fruit of his own devices, and now, within six short 
months after he had been created Earl of Essex (that 
title which hath proved almost as unlucky to its 
possessor as the famous horse Sejanus), he lay in the 
Tower, attainted of treason, and waiting for the very 
block and ax to which he himself had sent so many. 
His real offense lay in purveying to the king a wife 
who did not please him — the Lady Anne of Cleves, 
already divorced and living in her own house, treated 
by the king as his sister, happy in her endless tapestry 
work and in munching the suckets and comfits her 
Flemish ladies-in-waiting purveyed for her. She was 
not one to take any thing very much to heart which 
did not interfere with her bodily comfort. The king 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman . 171 

had already turned his dangerous fancy toward the 
ill-fated Katherine Howard, but I don’t believe the 
Lady Anne felt one pang of jealousy thereat. She 
was, with all reverence, like a gentle, fat cow, per- 
fectly content so long as she had food and drink, and 
the flies were not too troublesome. 

But it was not the alterations in state matters and 
the rise and fall of one great man or another which 
troubled our peace. It was the dreadful uncertainty 
in matters of religion. Just now the bloody statute 
of the Six Articles was law, but it was enforced 
rigidly or not, as the king’s humor was, or the in- 
fluence of Archbishop Cranmer or of Bonner and 
Gardiner came uppermost. These two last were the 
moving and ruling spirits in all persecutions at this 
time, as they were afterward in the more bloody days 
of Queen Mary. They had consented to the suppres- 
sion of the convents, and were even most forward in 
the matter, being willing, 1 suppose, to swim with the 
current so far if but they might have their way as to 
the reading of the Scriptures and some other matters. 
They were wise enough to know that all was naught 
with their cause if the Bible came to be generally 
read ; but they were not far-seeing enough to under- 
stand that the same Bible, having once been given to 
the people, they could no more take it back than they 
could bring back again the day that is past. They 
could not imprison or burn every one who read it, and 
who thought out conclusions for himself, else must 
they have put the whole city of London under 
sentence of death, as King Philip the Second of 
Spain did to the Netherlands. But they picked up 
one here and another there, and nobody felt any 


172 JLoveda^s JEtistorp. 

security, or knew but some spy was observing his 
movements in order to betray him. One week the 
king hanged six monks, with their prior at their head, 
for defending a monastic life ; the next he threatened 
with a like fate any monk or nun who, having taken 
the vows of that life, should presume to marry. As 
his infirmities increased, his temper grew more un- 
certain, till at last any man seemed to take his life in 
his hand who had to do with the king. 

Then there were great disorders every where, some 
rising out of religion, others from the excessive taxa- 
tion which pressed heavily upon all classes. Discon- 
tent was smouldering in all quarters, and now and 
then broke out into open flame, as in the two Pilgrim- 
ages of Grace, and other insurrections. It is not to 
be denied that the Protestants, as they began to be 
called, were also guilty of indecencies and extrava- 
gance. If you dam up a rapid stream, though never 
so clear, and your dam be swept away, the first over- 
flow will be turbid and violent, and likely enow to 
do mischief. Moreover, if the people enacted ridicu- 
lous plays, and sang ribald songs in the churches, 
they had seen these very same things allowed, nay, 
encouraged by the church, in the spectacles of the 
Boy Bishop and the Pope of Fools — those strange 
and extravagant parodies of the most sacred offices 
of the church. 

Yes, it was indeed a troublesome time, and every 
man who, despite the commands of the king and his 
ministers, continued to read the Holy Scripture, and 
to frame his belief and life thereby, took that life in 
his hand ; yet many households did it, and lived 
happy in the midst of disaster, and peaceful on the 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman . 1Y3 

very field where the battle was raging. Such a 
household was ours. One there was, indeed, who 
would not enter in herself, and who would fain have 
hindered those who would do so. I confess I used to 
be afraid of Philippa at times, not that in her sober 
senses she would have been so base as to put the 
brand with her own hands to the thatch which shel- 
tered her, but in her fits of temper there was no say- 
ing what she might do. Besides, she was one of 
those unhappy people to whom it seems absolutely 
necessary to hate something. In those days it was 
the Protestants. Now, she thinks I am greatly to 
blame in harboring poor, harmless old Father Austin; 
looks upon the book of Common Prayer as a remnant 
of popery, and upon bishops as at best very doubtful 
characters. She hates all Romanists and Prelatists, 
as she calls them, in just the same spirit that she 
used to hate the Scripture-readers — because they do 
not agree with her. 

But at that time she contented herself with hating, 
and did no covert act, save by keeping away from the 
Scripture-readings — for which no one blamed her, as 
she made it matter of conscience, and with bitter 
gibes and taunts whenever the subject was intro- 
duced, and, above all, if the talk turned upon per- 
sonal religion and inward experience. But as she 
had taken to solitude and keeping of her hours, and 
the like, so she was out of the way a good deal. 
Meantime, our household went on its way, in the midst 
of the commotion, like a stanch ship in a troubled 
sea. There was anxiety, indeed, which became sharp 
fear and agonized suspense, when the master of the 
family did not come home at the accustomed hours ; 


174 


Loveday's History . 


but as yet this was the worst which had befallen us. 
Master Hall no more printed Bibles openly, but I 
knew well that they were both made and sold in 
secret. However, he multiplied copies of the vul- 
gate, and of Erasmus’s Paraphrase of the New Testa- 
ment, so that every one who could make shift to read 
the very easy Latin could have one. Afterward, the 
universal reading even of the vulgate came to be for- 
bidden, but it was not so at that time. People grew 
eager to have their children taught to read, and all 
the day-schools were full. Greek, too, was more and 
more studied, and many ladies, especially about the 
Court, were good Grecians. I had a great fancy to 
learn it myself, and made, with Margaret Hall’s help, 
a good beginning; which, however, never came to be 
much more. 

I was all this time growing very uneasy at my 
state of dependence. It was true, as Master Davis 
had told me at first, that God had blessed him with 
abundant means, but then he had a great many uses 
for those means. The old mother of his first wife 
was still living, and as she persisted in keeping up 
her own house, and had little or nothing whereon to 
do it, somebody had to do it for her. I had been in 
the house some weeks, and had visited her several 
times, before I found out that she was wholly de- 
pendent upon her son-in-law’s bounty. She was only 
one of many pensioners. Besides, I fancy a good 
deal of the profit of the silk money went in another 
w T ay. There was then in England a sort of secret 
society called the Christian Brothers. This society 
was composed of well-to-do merchants and trades- 
men, for the most part, though it numbered both 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman . 175 

priests and gentlemen among its members. It had its 
correspondents and branches all over the country, 
and its object was to scatter far and wide copies of 
the sacred Word. As the merchant journeyed with 
his string of packhorses, laden with cloth, or silk, or 
hangings, or whatever might be his commodity, there 
was cunningly hidden under the bales a case or two 
of Bibles, Testaments, and such portions thereof as 
might be more easily concealed. When he came to a 
town, he had usually knowledge beforehand who was 
like to be well-affected to the faith, or he inquired, 
like the disciples of old, who therein was worthy, and 
there he took up his abode, disposing of his mer- 
chandise, and giving of his books as he found occa- 
sion. The truth was, that ever since the times of 
Master Wickliffe and the Lollards, there were those 
scattered about both this kingdom and Scotland, 
who had kept the faith and handed it down from 
father to son, together with some written copies of 
Master Wickliffe’s Bible. But these copies, being 
gradually outworn, and becoming more and more 
hard to understand, from the change of language in 
all those years, it may be guessed how eagerly and 
joyfully these poor, faithful ones would welcome the 
Word of Life fairly imprinted, and in such a shape 
as could be easily hid away, if need were, or carried 
about when there was no danger. I have heard old 
folk, who remembered far back, say that the Lol- 
lards, as men called them, were in the habit of put- 
ting certain marks and signs upon their houses which 
were known to no one else, and which served to guide 
those of them who traveled to the homes of their 
friends. I vouch not for the story, but ’tis like enow 


1% Loveday's History . 

to be true. Master Davis and bis sons were members 
of this society, and I now learned that mine uncle 
had been a great promoter of it. Of course such 
service was not only perilous, but it cost a great deal 
in money, and brought no return as the riches of 
this world. I could not but notice how plain was 
Mistress Davis’s own dress and that of her children, 
and how both she and Margaret did forego many of 
the luxuries and ornaments indulged in by others of 
their station. They could not carry their practice in 
this respect too far, however, since this very sim- 
plicity in attire and living might throw suspicion upon 
them. Mistress Davis was kind enough to say that 
the help I gave her about the house, and the care of 
the little ones, did more than offset the expense she 
was at for me ; but I knew, in truth, that help was 
very little, though the dear soul took pains to make 
many occasions for my services that I might not feel 
myself a burden. 

I was young and strong. I was able to work, and 
had been blest with a good education, and it did not 
seem right that these good friends, on whom I had no 
claim, should be burdened with my maintenance. I be- 
gan to cast about for some business whereby I could 
earn my bread, and had almost made up my mind to 
set up a little school, when fate, or rather Providence, 
(to speak like a Christian instead of a heathen,) cast 
in my way the very thing for which I was best suited. 
I have mentioned before that Mistress Davis had an 
elder sister who held an important place in the house- 
hold of Katherine, Duchess of Suffolk. This lady, 
the daughter and heir of Lord Willowbyby a beauti- 
ful Spanish lady, whilom maid of honor to the 


Her Graces Gentlewoman . 177 

unfortunate Queen Katherine, had been left in ward 
to the Duke of Suffolk, her father’s best friend. She 
was bred up under his care, and when she came to 
woman’s estate he married her, 

Mistress Isabel Curtis — that was the name of Mis- 
tress Davis’s sister — had been about the young lady 
since her infancy, and, as was natural, she still con- 
tinued in her service and affection, and had a great 
deal to do in the management of that great house- 
hold. She had been out of town with her mistress at 
the duke’s new manor of Hereham, given him by the 
king in exchange for the suppressed priory of Leis- 
ton ; but the family were now at their house in Lon- 
don, and on the first occasion possible Mistress Curtis 
had come to visit her sister, between whom and her- 
self there subsisted a devoted affection not often 
seen — more’s the pity — in that relation 

I had just come home from Master Hall’s, where I 
had been helping Margaret correct the sheets of 
Erasmus his Paraphrase. (I was not allowed to help 
in the work done by the secret press, lest I should be 
brought into trouble thereby.) I had also been 
giving a lesson on the lute to Mistress Alice, Andrew’s 
wife, and I was feeling very elate because her mother, 
a stately dame, had rewarded me with a broad Span- 
ish gold piece for the pains I had taken in teaching 
Mistress Alice some old ditty which the lady had 
liked in her youth. I heard below that there was a 
guest in the parlor, and not liking to intrude unasked, 
I was passing to my room, when Mistress Davis 
called me in and presented me to her sister. I made 
my courtesy, and fell in love with her then and there, 
even as I had done with Mistress Davis. 


178 


Loveday's History. 


Mistress Curtis would have made two of her little 
sister. She was tall and inclining to be stout, but 
not unbecomingly so. Her features, though large, 
were regular, her mouth somewhat thin, her chin 
beautifully formed. But it was her eyes that gave 
the chief beauty to her face. I hardly ever heard 
any two people agree about their color. They were, 
in fact, gray, but the pupils were so large and had 
such a trick of dilating that they looked black. Like 
all the gray eyes I have ever seen, they had great 
powers of expression, and a wonderful keenness and 
brilliancy, which seemed to look one through and 
through. Associating, as she had always done with 
great people, and having such a responsible charge, 
her manner had in it something of command, yet 
not mingled with aught haughty or supercilious. I 
never saw the like of Mistress Curtis before, and I 
am quite sure I never shall again. 

She received me very graciously, and, Mistress 
Davis having invited me to do so, 1 fetched my work 
and took a stool near the window. I was at that 
time bestowing all my skill on the embroidery of a 
set of kerchiefs and mufflers for Mistress Davis — and 
I may say, without vanity, that I was not ashamed to 
show my white seam and sprigs with any body. 

Mistress Curtis looked at and commended my work, 
and then pursued her conversation with her sister. 

“ And so Mrs. Anne is married ! ” said Mistress 
Davis : “I trust she hath done well.” 

“ Why yes, I think so ! ” answered Mistress Curtis. 
“ The match is, perhaps, somewhat below her degree, 
since Master Agnew is but a yeoman born, but then 
he hath a fair estate and is himself a man of good 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman. 


179 


conditions. Mrs. Anne was ever one who loved house- 
wifery and a country life, and she hath an easy, 
patient temper. Yes, I think she may be very 
happy.” 

“ And who hath filled her place ? ” 

“ Nobody as yet. The Duke will have none but 
gentlewomen about his wife, at least in her chamber, 
and her Grace would like some young lady who can 
read aloud in Latin and English, and hath skill with 
the lute and voice. She loves music above any one I 
ever saw, though she does not sing.” 

I could not help looking eagerly up at this. Mistress 
Davis saw it, and smiled. 

“Here is Loveday thinking, ‘Now that is just the 
place for me,’” said she. “ Were you not, chick?” 

I confessed that some such matter had been in my 
thought. 

“ And why should it be in your thought ? ” asked 
Mistress Curtis, a little severely, as it seemed. “ Are 
you not happy and content with my sister ? ” 

“ More than happy, madam,” I answered. “ I should 
be the basest of ingrates were it otherwise. But Mas- 
ter and Mistress Davis have many burdens on their 
hands already, and it seems not right that I should 
add to them, being young and strong, and having 
(under your favor, madam) a good education, which 
ought to stand in stead in earning a living.” 

“ Why that is speaking well, and like a sensible 
woman,” said Mistress Curtis. “ How old are you ? ” 

I told her that I was eighteen. 

“ It is full young, her Grace herself being so youth- 
ful ; and yet better the follies of youth than those of 
age,” she added, in a musing tone. 


180 


JLoveday's History . 

“Lovedayis not perfect more than other young 
people,” said Mistress Davis; “but yet I think 6he 
hath as few of these follies as fall to the lot of most 
maidens. I hope my own wenches* may grow up as 
good and towardly as she. But Loveday, why should 
you wish to leave us ? ” 

“ Only because I would not be a burden on your 
hands, dear aunt,” (so I had called her of late, by her 
own desire). “You have many to do for who are 
really helpless from age and sickness, and I cannot but 
feel that I am robbing some such person when I eat 
the bread of idleness in your house.” 

“ Oh, ho ! I see that we can think for ourselves, and 
that to purpose,” said Mistress Curtis, with _a smile. 
Hers was one of those faces in which the eyes smile 
before the lips. “ But what of your family, damsel ? 
Are you of gentle blood ? ” 

I satisfied her on that point. Indeed the Corbets 
are among the oldest of our old Devon families, and 
go back far beyond the Conqueror. (N. B. — ’Tis no 
great wonder he conquered, seeing how many people’s 
ancestors came over with him.) Then she would have 
me read and sing for her. Being naturally somewhat 
agitated, I did not acquit myself as well as usual, but 
Mistress Curtis seemed to be satisfied. 

“ I see, indeed, that you have been well taught,” 
said she. “ You are convent bred, you say. Where ? ” 

I told her. “It was a good house,” she said, mus- 
ingly : “ I much wonder, sister, what young ladies 
will do for schools of education now that the convents 

* Wench and wretch were terms of endearment in those 
days, and the former is so still in some parts of England. Sir 
Thomas More uses it to his daughters. 


Her Grace's Gentlewoman. 181 

are all gone. ’Twere a good deed for some one 
to set up a school where such might board and study 
under good mistresses. Well, my young lady, I like 
your conditions, so far as I see them. With my sis- 
ter’s permission, I will now ask you to withdraw, that 
I may talk the matter over with her.” 

Mistress Davis called me aside and gave me some 
commission or other about dainties for the supper- 
table. I had often exercised my skill in this way since 
I came to London. I went to the kitchen and asked 
Madge, the cook, to have all things in readiness for 
me, and then retiring to my closet, I prayed earnestly 
that all things might be ordered for the best. Then, 
leaving the matter where it belonged, I betook my- 
self to the making of such a device in blanc-manger 
as should adorn the supper table and do honor to our 
guest. 

After the meal was over and Mistress Curtis had 
departed, Master and Mistress Davis called me into 
the parlor and bade me sit down. They told me that 
while I was most welcome to remain in their house 
and family as long as I needed a home, yet they 
could not but commend the spirit which led me to 
wish to earn mine own living. 

“It is not every great family to which I should 
like to send a young lady,” said Master Davis, “ but 
the Duke of Suffolk’s household hath ever had a rep- 
utation for man-loving and godliness.” 

“ What like is his Grace ? ” I ventured to ask. 
Master Davis smiled. 

“ Like a knight of the past age,” said he. “ More 
I will not tell you. The present Duchess is very 
young, but she hath been well brought up and comes 


182 


Loveday's History . 


of a good stock. She shows her sense in keeping my 
good sister Curtis at the head of her household. Well, 
then, my child, you shall wait upon the Duchess to- 
morrow, and if you are mutually pleased, you shall 
take the place my sister offers you. But remember, 
Loveday, that you are always to have a home in this 
house.” 

I thanked him for his goodness as well as I could — 
for the rebellious tears would come in spite of me — 
saying I should never forget the kindness shown me 
in that house, and Mistress Hall’s goodness. 

“ The obligation hath been mutual, my dear,” said 
Mistress Davis. “ I do not know what the children 
will say, especially Bess and Helen.” 

“ And you will let me know so soon as you hear 
from mine uncle,” said I. 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Master Davis, but he 
sighed and the sigh was echoed by his wife. I knew 
that he had little hope of ever hearing from Gabriel 
Corbet again. Those were days (as they are still 
abroad) when a man could easily drop out of sight 
and never be found or heard of again. I have 
thought since that one reason why Master Davis 
was so ready to let me go, was a consideration for 
mine own safety. The Duke of Suffolk was in 
great favor with Henry, and was, indeed, his brother- 
in-law as well as god-father to the little Prince Ed- 
ward, and he was one of the few men who dared cross 
the King’s humor now and then. Gardiner hated 
him, but he was rather too high a quarry for that foul 
kite to fly at, bold as he was in those days. 



CHAPTER IX. 

HER GRACE. 

■ HE next day at noon, which was the time 
appointed by Mistress Curtis, my aunt 
and I presented ourselves at the great new 
mansion which the Duke of Suffolk had built for 
himself in South warke, over against the church of 
St. George. This house came afterward into the 
king’s possession, and is now used as a mint for 
the coinage of money. I had passed the house more 
than once and admired its ornaments, little thinking 
that I should ever live there. The porter was at the 
door, and seemed to have been expecting us, for he 
called another man, who led us up the great stairway, 
and through a grand gallery all hung with weapons, 
bright armor and pictures, to a parlor, where Mistress 
Curtis met us and conducted us without delay to the 
withdra wing-room of the duchess. The room was a 
small one, but so beautiful with silken hangings/Purk- 
ish rugs and other ornaments, that it was like a casket 
prepared for some precious jewel; and wonderful, in- 
deed, was the jewel it enshrined. 

“Good morrow to you, Mistress Davis,” said a 
gay, sweet voice ; “ so, my good Curtis tells me, you 



184 Loveday's History . 

have purveyed me a gentlewoman who is quite a 
paragon.” 

“ No paragon, an’ it please your Grace, but a well- 
bred and discreet young lady,” answered Mistress 
Davis, modestly yet without servility. 

u So much the better ; 1 shall not be afraid of her. 
Look up, maiden, and let me see you.” 

I raised my eyes to the lady’s face as I spoke, and 
it is no exaggeration to say that I was dazzled. She 
was always lovely to the last day of her life, but at 
that time her beauty was simply wonderful. Know- 
ing her mother to have been a Spanish lady, I had 
expected to see some one with black hair and an olive 
skin. Instead of that, the Duchess was most bril- 
liantly fair, with a complexion of such clearness as to 
show the delicate blue veins about her temples, while 
her hair, which was straight and surprisingly abund- 
ant, was of the loveliest paly gold. I have since 
learned that this brilliant fairness belongs to certain 
very noble families in Spain, and they are extremely 
proud of it as showing their pure Gothic descent. 
The eyes were of a violet blue, large and well opened; 
the mouth firm in outline, with a host of dimples 
dancing in and out whenever she smiled. 

She was very kind and even playful in her manner, 
yet not so as to invite any unbecoming freedom. She 
questioned me about my accomplishments, but said 
kindly that she would not ask me to sing, as it would 
hardly be a fair trial. Then she asked me why I 
wished to leave my present home, and I told her — 
because I would fain earn my own living instead of 
hanging on the hands of Master Davis. 

a I am afraid you are a phoenix, after all,” said she, 


Her Gract. 185 

laughing merrily, " and yet I could wish there were 
more of your kind. How is it, Mistress Davis, that 
you have not found a husband for this child.” 

“ So please your grace, Loveday might have had a 
husband had she so chosen, but her mind was not to 
take him, and beside that, we had no authority to do 
so ; neither my husband nor myself would force a 
young maid’s inclinations in such a matter. I have 
seen too much of that in my day.” 

(This was true, though I forgot to mention it in 
the proper place. A good merchant with quite a fam- 
ily of children had proposed for me, but I had no 
mind for him. Marry, an’ I could have taken the 
children and the house, without the man, I would have 
liked it well enough !) 

“ I think you are right,” said the Duchess. “ As 
you say, it is done far too often. Well, my maiden, 
I am well pleased with your appearance and with all 
that I hear of you. When can you come to me? ” 

I told her I knew of nothing to hinder my coming 
at once. 

“ Very well ; my good Curtis will instruct you in 
your duties, and see that you are provided with fitting 
apparel . 

“Not so, please your Grace,” said Mistress Davis. 
“ I must beg the privilege of myself purveying Love- 
day’s wardrobe on her first going forth into the world.” 

“ As you please, good dame,” said the Duchess ; 
“ only let her cotne as soon as possible. Curtis, will 
you provide some refreshment for your friends and 
settle every thing needful with them.” 

We made our obeisance and withdrew to Mistress 
Curtis’s own apartment, where we found a collation 


186 


Loveday's History . 


already provided. Now that the thing was done, I 
must needs confess that I was rather scared, and be- 
gan to wish that I had followed my first plan of set- 
ting up a little school. I had never associated with 
great ladies, save indeed in the convent, where rank 
was not much considered. I began to wonder how I 
should ever find my way about these long galleries 
and staircases, and whether I should ever feel at home 
with my new mistress. However, I reflected that, after 
all, these fine things were but passing shows, and the 
people I should have to deal with were men and 
women, and — what was most comforting — that the 
best Help and Shelter of all would be with me as much 
in these grand halls as in my room at Master Davis’s, 
and by dint of such reflections and lifting up my heart 
in prayer, I was prepared to hear and understand 
when Mistress Curtis was ready to talk with me about 
my duties. 

These were simple enough. I found that I was re- 
quired to take my turn with the other gentlewomen 
in attending upon her Grace in her chamber and help- 
ing her to dress, to stand behind her chair at meal- 
times and when her Grace received or went into com- 
pany, and, above all, to entertain my mistress with 
reading and music whenever she was inclined. 

“ I think you will agree with the other waiting gentle- 
woman, Mistress Emily Mandeville, very w r ell,” said 
Mistress Curtis. “ She is a good creature, and wholly 
devoted to her lady. As to the rest of the household, 
you will have little to do with them. You will have 
your own room, to which you may retire when off 
duty, and you will share this parlor with myself and 
Mistress Mandeville. I need not tell you that you 


Her Grace. 


187 


are expected, when in her Grace’s apartment, to hear 
all and say nothing, and I trust you need no warning 
against gossiping and repeating conversation out of 
the house.” 

“ I trust not, indeed, madam ! ” I answered, feeling 
my cheeks grow hot at the very idea that such a cau- 
tion was needful. “ I am not likely to tattle, seeing I 
know no one in London hut Mistress Davis and her 
family, who are not likely to tempt me to such base- 
ness.” 

“ Nay, be not so warm ! ” said Mistress Curtis, 
smiling. “ There was no accusation in my words, 
only a warning, which is quite a different matter.” 

'“I ask pardon, madam!” I answered, feeling 
ashamed of my hastiness. “ Quickness of temper is 
my failing, but I trust, by God’s grace, to correct it in 
time.” 

“ ’Tis half the battle to know one’s fault,” gently 
answered Mistress Curtis; “but yeti counsel you, 
maiden, to strive with all your might against it. A 
hasty temper often does more harm in five minutes 
than can be undone by the bitter repentance of a life- 
time.” 

I thought I had too much reason to know that. 

“ I never thought it so bad a fault as some others — 
as lying and deceit ! ” observed Mistress Davis. 

“ True, sister. Deceit is to all other faults as 
the King’s Evil* to other diseases. It infects the 
whole soul as that the whole body, blood, flesh and 
bone, and one never knows when it may break out or 

* Wliat we now call scrofula. It was named King’s Evil 
from the fact that the Kings of England were believed to have 
the power of curing it. 


188 


Loveday's History. 


what form it may take. But there is no single fault 
which, when indulged, does not drag a chain of other 
sins along with it. Learn, then, to rule thy spirit, 
dear maiden, and so to be greater than he that taketh 
a city, as the wise man says. Now, as to a less im- 
portant matter, but yet one of weight, especially with 
young maids — your clothes ! ” she added, smiling. 

“ If it please you, madam, do you and my Aunt 
Davis settle that between you*” I answered. “ I am 
sure you will know best.” 

“ Why, so we will. Meantime, you may go into the 
next room, where you will find an instrument, some 
music books, and other volumes with which you may 
amuse yourself.” 

I rose, nothing loth, and passed into the next room ; 
a very pretty one with an oriel window, and having 
a lute and virginals* and a pile of music books, 
and looking these over I discovered a book of the 
psalms in French meter with music attached. I 
/could a not forbear trying these with the spinet, and 
was so much engaged with them that I started as if 
shot when some one opened the door. I rose in some 
confusion, when I found my visitor was a tall, stately 
gentlemen, splendidly dressed, but one who would 
have shown his dignity in any weeds. 

“ I crave pardon for startling you, fair lady,” said 
he, with a gesture of courtesy. “ I was looking for 
Mistress Curtis, and hearing your voice, my curiosity 
would not be satisfied without seeing the singer. 
Pray, good Curtis ” — as she entered by the other 

* The spinet, clarichord and virginals were all ancestors of the 
piano-forte. See a very interesting article in Macmillan’s En- 
glish Magazine for January, 1884. 


Her (Trace. . 189 

door — “what fair lady is this who sings so charm- 
ingly ? ” 

Mistress Curtis explained the matter. I had 
guessed already that I stood in the presence of the 
Duke of Suffolk. He heard her to the end, glancing 
at me now and then, as I stood withdrawn into the 
recess of the window. 

“ It is well,” said he. “ I have every reason to 
trust your discretion, my good Curtis, and glad I am 
that my dear wife’s love of music should be so grati- 
fied. What did you call the young lady’s name ?” 

“ Loveday Corbet, your Grace.” 

“ Corbet— Corbet ! ” he repeated, musingly. “ That 
is a west country name and a good old family. Come 
you from Devon, Mistress Corbet ? ” 

“Yes, your Grace,” I answered. “My father was 
a gentleman of North Devon, though I believe his 
father removed to London before he was born.” * 

“Have you any friends there living at present ?” 

“ None, your Grace, now that my Lady Peckham is 
dead. Her first husband was a distant kinsman of 
my father’s.” 

“ Corbet — I have heard the name lately, but I can- 
not place it,” said he. “Well, my young lady, I 
trust you may be happy and useful in this house. 
Your mistress is a most lovely lady, and easily 
pleased. Let me give you a token to hansel your 
first entrance into my family.” 

So, saying he placed a gold piece in my hand, and 
then turned away and left the room. Such was my 
first sight of Charles Brandon, the good Duke of 
Suffolk, and ever to my mind the very mirror of all 
knightly and manly virtues. 


190 Lovedaxfs History . 

I went home in a somewhat dazed and bewildered 
frame of mind, but once in the solitude of my own 
room, I soon composed myself and was ready to meet 
Master Hall’s jokes and Philippa’s bitter gibes on 
my promotion with equal serenity. Indeed, however 
full of fun and merriment Master Hall might be, lie 
never forgot to be kind. It was not so easy to bear 
the children’s^ remonstrances and tears, especially 
those of my own little pupil, Helen, a tender, spirited 
little maid, who had become very dear to me, but the 
matter was settled now, and there was no help for it. 
And, indeed, considering the whole affair calmly in my 
chamber, I did not wish to help it. I was convinced 
that I had done right in relieving Master Davis of my 
maintenance. I also felt sure of a faithful friend and 
counselor in Mistress Curtis. I was charmed with my 
new master and mistress, and saw no reason why I need 
not be happy in serving them. I had a little my doubts 
of my companion in waiting, Mistress Mandeville. 
I thought she looked prim and formal, but I would not 
allow myself to be set against her beforehand. Yes, 
I believed I had acted wisely, and I was content to leave 
the result of my action in the hands of Him whom I 
had learned to consider my best friend. I knew I 
should always have the Davis family and Margaret 
Hall to fall back upon if I needed such support. 
They had already done for me more than I could 
ever repay, were it only in bringing me to a knowl- 
edge of the Scriptures. Margaret, especially, had 
opened to me a great new world of thought, which 
could never be closed again, happen what might. 
Surely God had been very good to me, though for so 
many years I had never learned to love Him — never 


Her Grace. 


191 


thought of Him if I could help it, and then only as 
one to be dreaded and propitiated if possible, and 
who, if I only made myself uncomfortable enough, 
might perhaps be won at least not utterly to destroy 
me. Let those testify who know by their own expe- 
rience, what a change is made in the life when God’s 
love is shed abroad in our hearts. 

But I must hasten on to my tale. ’Tis the nature 
of old folk to be garrulous, and I find I am no excep- 
tion to the rule, especially when I have a pen in my 
hand. 

Just a week from my first visit to Suffolk House, I 
betook myself thither, accompanied by Mistress Davis, 
and followed by one of the men bearing my bundles. 
My great mail was to come later in the day. I re- 
member St. George’s clock was just striking nine as 
we passed near it, and I saw a poor woman, whom I 
knew at once had been a religious of some kind, 
standing under the porch. I had some loose silver 
in my pocket, and I could not forbear putting a 
couple of groats into her hand. She started and col- 
ored, and then thanked me eagerly, and turned 
quickly away. In a moment more we saw her enter 
a baker’s shop close by. 

“ Poor thing, did she not look hungry ? ” said Mis- 
tress Davis. “ You have given her one good meal, at 
all events.” 

“ She is, or rather has been, a religious,” said I. 
“ I am sure of it.” 

“ Very like, very like ! I must try and speak 
with her when I come back. Theirs is a hard fate, 
poor souls ! ” 

“ Yes, they do not all fall into such warm nests as 


192 


Loveday's History. 


I did ! ” I could not help saying, whereat she squeezed 
my hand lovingly. I heard afterward that she saw 
the woman, and finding her clever with her needle, 
she got her work that made the poor sister very com- 
fortable. Helping one out of the hundreds who were 
in need, was like helping one fly when hundreds are 
drowning, yet is it altogether better for that one fly 
than if you were to leave him to drown too. I took 
leave of my dear Aunt Davis, and certainly I did 
feel rather forlorn as I applied to the fat, surly, con- 
sequential porter at the hall-door to be led to Mistress 
Curtis. However, he was very civil — like master, 
like man — and I soon found myself conducted into 
my own little room and left to prepare myself to 
attend my mistress at dinner. It was by no means 
as sumptuous as my room at Master Davis his house, 
but yet comfortable enough. There was a small bed 
hung with blue stuff, a joint stool, chair and small 
table with a mirror hung above it. And in one cor- 
ner was a sort of cabinet, with drawers, for my clothes. 
The window commanded a pleasant view. The maid 
who attended to help me unpack my goods, told me 
that Mistress Mandeville’s room was next mine. 

“ Who is that ? ” I asked, as an elderly lady, dressed 
in deep, but old-fashioned, black passed me, giving 
me a keen glance as she did so. 

“ That is Mistress Patience. She was a great friend 
of her Grace’s mother — I have heard say she attended 
on Queen Katherine, and was left in great misery 
after her death, till her Grace found her. She hath 
been in clover ever since, but some think she is not 
quite right in her mind.” 

I looked with great interest at the old lady, as she 


Her Grac6. 


193 


walked to the end of the gallery, seemingly only for 
the exercise. As she met and passed me in returning, 
she dropped her stick ; I picked it up quickly and put 
it into her hand, whereat she gave me another 
keen glance and thanked me, adding in a clear 
though trembling voice, and a somewhat foreign 
accent : 

“ You are my new neighbor, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, madam ! ” I answered. 

“ Ay. Well, be faithful and you shall have your 
reward . ” 

I courtesied and followed my guide down the stairs, 
noting carefully all the turns, that I might be able to 
find my way back. Mistress Curtis greeted me kindly, 
saying I was just in time to attend my mistress at 
dinner. Accordingly, she led me to the duchess her 
withdrawing-room, where I found her splendidly 
dressed and beautiful as ever. 

“ So, here is my singing bird ! ” said she. “ We 
must make trial of your gifts by and by. Meantime, 
be you acquainted with Mistress Mandeville, your 
companion in service.” 

Mistress Mandoville courtesied and said something 
civil. She was of medium height, with eyes of that 
sort which seem to have no particular color, a reason- 
ably good skin and features, and she carried herself 
remarkably well. She passed for a model of pru- 
dence, propriety, and all the other good Ps, because 
she never expressed an opinion of her own, and, 
indeed, never talked if she could help it. I lived in 
the house with her six months, and did not know her 
one bit better at the end of the time than at the be- 
ginning. But we never had an unpleasant word, and 


194 Loveday's History . 

1 really think she liked me as well as she knew how 
to like any body. 

We stood behind our lady’s chair at the dinner, 
which was very splendid and well furnished, with 
guests of great quality. The Duke entertained many 
gentlemen in his household, and the expenses of the 
table alone were something fabulous. As I glanced 
down the long board, I saw at the lower end a face 
and figure which seemed at once to take me back to 
childish days at Peckham Hall. The dress was that 
of a priest, but I could not see the face plainly for a 
great burly count from the Low Countries who sat 
above. The glimpse I had, excited me to a lively 
curiosity, and I longed for another, but when I looked 
again the priest had left the board. 

“ Now we shall have our dinner,” said Mrs. Mande- 
ville, with some appearance of interest. (It was the 
only subject on which she ever did show any anima- 
tion.) “ I hope they have not eaten up all the stur- 
geon.” 

I felt for a moment foolishly humiliated at having 
to sit down to the board after others had finished, but 
I might have spared myself that mortification, for I 
found that the ladies and gentlemen attendant directly 
upon the Duke and Duchess dined in a chamber by 
themselves, and as well as any one at the great board, 
if they chose. It was a fast day, and I, who was ac- 
customed to keep the fasts and feasts of the church, 
was surprised to see the delicacies which were served 
to us. Mistress Curtis presided at the board and kept 
order, yet was there abundance of lively conversation 
among the young gentlemen. Only when it seemed 
verging upon too much freedom did Mistress Curtis, 


Her Grace . 


195 


smilingly, call them to order. There were half a 
dozen pages of noble, or at least gentle, birth, who 
were being bred up in the Duke’s household, and in- 
structed in all sorts of manly exercises in the tilt- 
yard and manege, besides what book-learning they got 
with a master entertained for the purpose. Two or 
three of these were little lads of an age, as it seemed, 
to be under their mothers, and it pleased me to see 
how these children came about Mistress Curtis when 
the meal was done, and how kindly she spoke to them. 
One of them had been crying, and, on being ques- 
tioned, owned that he had been in difficulties with his 
tutor on account of certain pronouns whereof he could 
by no means understand the declensions. 

“ Bring your book to me,” I ventured to say, (I 
knew I had an hour to myself at this time) “ and, with 
Mistress Curtis’s leave, I will see if I can help you.” 

“ Do so, Roger, since Mistress Corbet is so kind,” 
added Mistress Curtis. The little fellow— he was no 
more than seven years old — brightened up and ran off 
for his book. 

“ Law’s me, Mistress Corbet, what pleasure can 
there be in spending your play -hour over a Latin 
grammar and a stupid lad ?” said Mrs. Mandeville. 

“ Oh I like teaching, and I remember mine own 
troubles with these same declensions,” said I ; and 
little Roger returning, I took him into the window- 
seat and soon made his way plain for him. 

“ Thank you, madam,” said the child, gratefully. “ I 
wish I might do my lessons with you every day. 
Master Sprat is so cross, and when I am puzzled he says 
I could learn if I would — but I can’t learn unless I un- 
derstand. But he is going away to his new cure — 


196 


Xjoveday's History. 


much good may it do him,” said Roger, brighten- 
ing up, “ and perhaps Master Corbet may be more 
good-natured.” 

“ Corbet !” said I, “that is my name.” 

“ It is our new master’s name, too, and we are to 
begin with him to-morrow.” 

“Then see that you have your task well conned, 
so as not to shame your mistress,” said I. He 
was such a baby that I could not forbear kissing 
his round, fair cheek. Then I betook myself to Mis- 
tress Curtis’s parlor, where I found her, and also Mis- 
tress Mandeville, who was making a kerchief at the 
rate of ten stitches a minute, and lifting every one as 
though she w r ere prying up stones with a crowbar. It 
did always make me ache to see her sew. “ Well and 
what of your pupil ? ” asked Mistress Curtis. 

“ Oh, I have sent him away happy,” said I. “ ’ Tis 
a fine little lad, though he says his master calls him 
stupid because he can not learn what he does not 
understand.” 

“ I dare say. He is a crabbed, austere man, soured 
by poverty and hard study before he came here, and 
his temper is not sweetened* by the tricks the mis- 
chievous lads play on him. But he goes away very 
soon to some benefice or other. By the way, the new 
tutor has the same name as your own.” 

“ So little Roger tells me,” said I. “ I had a distant 
cousin of that name, my Lady Peckham’s son, who 
went to study for a priest. I wonder if this could 
possibly be the same ? ” 

“ This young man hath come up to London, as I 
understand, to study the Hebrew tongue,” said Mis- 
tress Curtis. 


Her Grace . 


197 


“ Dear me, why should he want do learn Hebrew ? ” 
asked Mrs. Mandeville. “ He is not a Jew, is he ? ” 

“ If he were, he would probably know Hebrew with- 
out learning it,” answered Mistress Curtis. (Somehow 
Mrs. Mandeville’s stupid speeches always did seem to 
put her out of temper.) “ I suppose he wishes to 
study the Scripture in the original tongue.” 

“Well, I would not like to know so many strange 
tongues and things. I should be afraid of being 
burned for a wizard.” 

“That would be a waste of faggots, certainly,” re- 
turned Mistress Curtis, dryly. “But there is the clock. 
Young ladies, it is time you went to your mistress.” 

Mrs. Mandeville* led the way, and I soon found 
myself behind my lady’s chair in the great withdraw- 
ing-room, which w T as crowded with guests, both ladies 
and gentlemen, come to pa*y their court. The Duchess 
seemed to know all, and have a pleasant word for all. 
The Duke stood near, now and then addressing a 
word to his wife, and there was ever that interchange 
of loving and familiar glances so pleasant to see be- 
tween married people. He was more than old enough 
to be her father, and, indeed, she was his fourth wife, 
his third having been the Princess Mary of England, 
the king’s sister, and dowager of France. It was on the 
occasion of this marriage that he appeared at a 
tourney in a dress half of cloth of gold and half of 
frieze, with this motto : 

“ Cloth of frieze he not too hold, 

Though thou he matched with cloth of gold. 

Cloth of gold do not despise 

Though thou he matched with cloth of frieze.” 

It was said all his marriages had been love 


198 


Loveday's History. 


matches, and I could easily believe it, for a nobler 
pattern of a man I never saw. He was the model of 
all knightly and gracious exercises in tourney and 
field, having gained more than one victory by his 
prowess, and he was counted equally wise and dis- 
creet in the council hall. He was also a great patron 
of the new learning and a protector of those who 
followed it, nor did he disdain the more trifling arts 
of music and painting. I, who at that time had 
never seen a good picture, used to spend half my 
leisure in looking at those which the duke had 
brought home from Italy and the Low Countries. 

Of course, I had nothing to do but to stand still and 
use my eyes and ears. It was the grand reception- 
day of the week, and many were the great people who 
thronged the splendid rooms. It was not long be- 
fore I heard the name of Bishop Gardiner, and I 
looked with eagerness to see this man who had held 
such an influence over my life. In he came, in his 
rich churchman’s habit, all smiling civility. I believe 
I should have hated him at first sight if I had not 
known who he was. He was followed by Father 
Simon, his chaplain, whose viper face I knew in an 
instant. He advanced at once to pay his court to the 
duchess, and no one bowed lower than he or was 
more fulsome in his flattery. 

“ Well, my lord, and how goes on your favorite 
pursuit ? ” asked the Duchess in her gay, ringing 
voice. 

“ To what does your grace allude ? ” asked the 
bishop. 

“ Oh, the turning out of nuns and monks. We all 
know you like to hunt them as a warrener does 


Her Grace . 199 

rabbits, only your ferrets are learned doctors and 
divines.” 

I saw Father Simon’s face darken at this gibe, but 
the bishop only smiled. 

“ ’Tis said the chantries are next to go,” con- 
tinued the Duchess, in the same gay voice. “ I much 
wonder, my lord, what kind of reception you expect 
to meet with in Purgatory. Will not the poor souls 
who are waiting to be sung out of their pains fall 
upon him who hath so cruelly deprived them of their 
means of escape ? ” 

“ Let me remind you, my love, that these are 
hardly fit subjects for jesting,” said the Duke, gently. 
“ My lord, have you seen his majesty within a day. 
His physician, Dr. Butts, tells me he is ill at ease.” 

Thus he turned the talk into another channel, 
while my mistress, though she seemed to pout dk>r<i 
moment, soon recovered her gayety, and began again 
chatting on indifferent subjects. As for the bishop, 
he never showed one particle of annoyance either at 
this time or on other similar occasions. But “ what 
was fristed was not forgotten,” as old ladies u«ed to 
say, and he made the sweet lady pay dearly for her 
gibes : marry, ’twas through no good will of his that 
she did not atone for them with her life. 

When the company were .gone, my mistress bade 
me sit dowrn to the instrument and play and sing to 
divert her and her husband. I did my best, and her 
Grace was pleased to praise me very highly, saying 
that my voice was one of the finest she had ever 
heard. 

“ The voice is not the only beauty,” said the Duke. 
“ Mistress Corbet sings with expression, without which 


200 Loveday's History . 

the best voice is ‘but as sounding brass and a tink- 
ling cymbal,’ as the apostle says. What other songs 
do you know ? ’ ” 

I told him not many, as I had learned in the 
convent, where we had none but sacred music. He 
then bade some one fetch a book of French Psalms 
from which I had been playing, and he was pleased 
to join his voice with me in some of them. 

“ These psalms are greatly sung in France,” said 
he. “ One hears them both in palace and cottage. I 
would some one would do as much for the psalms in 
English, that they might replace the ribaldry one 
hears every where.” 

“It may be done some time — who knows ?” said 
the Duchess. “ Go you abroad to-night, my sweet 
lord?” 

“ I must needs do so, since the king commands,” he 
answered. “ And what will you do ? ” 

“ Stay at home to play with my babes, like a good 
housewife,” said she, with a smile, “ and perhaps to 
visit poor Mistress Patience, whom I have not seen 
for two days.” 

“ I perceived the old lady was not at table.” 

“ No, she is ill at ease, poor soul. I think not she 
will live long.” 

“ It is hardly to be wished. Good-by, then, 
sweetheart.” 

When the duke had gone, his wife rose and bid- 
ding us attend her, she went first to the nursery, 
where I saw her two little sons, of four and five 
years, lovely buds of that noble stem, destined to be 
blighted in their earliest bloom by the dreadful 
sweating-sickness. They were sweet, well-governed 


Her Grace. 


201 


children, oyerjoyed to see their beautiful mother, 
and coming with shy grace to speak to me when bade 
to do so. Presently the elder boy asked his mother 
when sister Frances was coming home, and I then 
learned for the first time that the duke had an un- 
married daughter by his third wife, Margaret of En- 
gland, who was now visiting some lady about the 
court. 

I was in a hurry for supper to come now, hoping I 
might see in the new tutor my old friend and play- 
mate, and then telling myself how silly I was to pre- 
pare such a disappointment. But I was not destined 
to be disappointed. The Duke being away, the whole 
family sat down to supper together, and the very first 
sight convinced me that Walter Corbet was before 
me. He had grown older, of course, and looked thin 
and worn, but there was the old expression of peace- 
ful firmness and resolution in his dark eyes and in 
the lines of his mouth. I do not think he glanced at 
me till the Duchess addressed some kind word to 
him, when he looked up and our eyes met. Even 
then he did not recognize me at once, and no great 
wonder, as he had not seen me since I was eight 
years old ; yet his eyes lingered on my face with a 
puzzled expression, which the Duchess observing, 
(as she always saw every thing,) said : 

“ Master Corbet, my new gentlewoman hath the 
same name as yourself and comes also from the 
West Country. It may be you are of kin.” 

I could not but smile at his look of bewilderment, 
and seeing he was still uncertain, I touched with my 
finger a small but deep scar on my brow, which I had 
gotten in one of our childish expeditions after nuts. 


202 


Loveday's History . 


“ Surely ! ” said he, “ this cannot be my little cousin 
Loveday, who used to live at Peckham Hall with my 
mother ? ” 

“ Even so,” I answered, as my mistress’s eye and 
smile gave me leave to speak. “ I knew you in a 
moment ; but then you are changed less than I.” 

“ And you are little Loveday,” said he, as though 
he could hardly believe it even yet. 

“Not so very little at present,” said the Duchess. 
“You must make acquaintance, since you are old 
friends and kinsfolk.” 

This was all that passed at that time. The evening 
was spent in reading aloud to my mistress and play- 
ing of cards, about which I knew nothing till she 
taught me, and which I never learned to like. The 
Duchess, not being very well, went to bed early, and 
I waited on her to her chamber and helped her to 
undress, as was part of my duty. My service, how- 
ever, was not much more than nominal, as she had an 
old maid-servant who had attended her since she was 
a child. She then dismissed me, and I went to bed, 
feeling more tired than I had ever done in my life. 

Next morning I was astir in good time. I had been 
used, of late, to read a portion in the Bible every 
morning, and, as the sun shone pleasantly into the gal- 
lery, and my room was something dark, I ventured to 
walk up and down there, while reading in St. John’s 
Gospel. I had not done so long, when a door opened, 
and the old lady I had heard called Mistress Pa- 
tience, put her head out. 

“ Can I do aught for you, madam ? ” I asked, seeing 
her looking as if she would call somebody. 

“ Oh, I would not trouble you, Mistress 1 forget 


Her Grace . 


203 


your name,” answered the old lady. “I was but 
looking for the woman who helps me to dress ; I am 
rheumatic, as you see. She is long in coming, I think, 
or else I am earlier than my wont.” 

“It has not yet gone six by the church-bell,” said I. 
“ But, Mistress Patience, please let me help you ; 
I shall love to do so.” 

“Nay, child, ’tis no office for such as thou — thou 
a gentlewoman.” 

“lama Christian,” I answered ; “ and what should 
such do but help each other ? Besides, I shall like it. 
1[t will remind me of the time when I used to help 
dear Sister Sacristine, in the convent. Please allow 
me.” 

The old lady consented, and I helped her to dress. 
She was much crippled with rheumatism, and I feared 
hurting her ; but I suppose I did not, for she said I 
was a deft maid. 

“ And what book have you there ? ” said she, as I 
took up the volume I had laid on the table. I told 
her. 

“ What, you are an heretic, then ? ” said she, sharply. 

“ Nay, madam, why should you think so ? ” I an- 
swered. 

“ Because you read the Bible, like that snake-in-the- 
grass that brought my dear mistress to her doom. 
Away, I have naught to do with heretics. They mur- 
dered my dear mistress.” 

“ But, dear madam, listen a moment,” said I. “ Don’t 
you know that both Luther and Tyndale wrote against 
the king’s divorce of Queen Katherine, as did many 
others whom men call heretics ? For myself, I do 
not pretend to judge of state matters, being nothing 


204 


Loveday's History . 


but a simple maid, but my heart hath ever been with 
your mistress. And you know it was the great Cardi- 
nal who first helped on the matter of the divorce. I 
have heard say that the queen herself accused him of 
blowing the coal betwixt her and the king.” 

“ So she did, so she did, poor soul ! ” said the old 
lady, relenting a little. “But, oh, my maiden, for 
your soul’s sake, beware of heresy, and of reading 
and judging in matters too high for you. It is that 
which is drawing down vengeance on this realm.” 

I soothed her, as well as I could, and, getting her 
comfortably seated in her great chair, I fetched my 
“ Imitation,” and read to her a few minutes. 

“ There is the bell, Mistress Corbet,” said she, as a 
bell rang in the gallery. “ You must go, but you will 
come again, won’t you ? ” 

“Yes, indeed ! ” said I, venturing to kiss her fore- 
head ; whereat she gave me a smile and her blessing. 

As I have said, breakfast was not at that time the 
serious matter it has since become. I had been bidden 
to repair to the small dining-room for mine, and did so. 
There, to my great joy, I found Walter, eating his 
bread and milk, with a book open by his basin, as he 
used to do at the hall. It may be guessed that we 
found plenty to say to each other. He told me that 
the hall was shut up and empty, save for the old 
servants who staid to look after it. Sir John Lam- 
bert, with whom he had studied, had gone abroad to 
save his life, being accused of heresy, and he, himself, 
had had a narrow escape from the clutches of Father 
Barnaby. 

“I know not how he let me go, only that 
he could not find in his heart to burn so good 


Her Grace . 


205 


a Latinist,” said he, smiling. “When my kind 
fi iend went abroad I betook myself to my parish 
of Coombe Ashton, and there I have lived till now. 
But I have left my cure in good hands, and am come 
up to London, for a time, to study the Greek and He- 
brew to more advantage. The Duke of Suffolk hath 
kindly given me a place in his household, where I hope 
to serve well both my earthly and Heavenly Master. 
But now tell me of yourself. Where have you been, 
all these years ? ” 

Tis a long tale,” said I. “ I can only give you 
the outlines thereof,” which I did, only saying naught 
of the cause which sent me from London to Dart- 
ford. 

“ -Buf? Walter,” I added (’twas a wonder to see how 
easily we went back to the old names), “ how does 
it happen that you have not heard all this before ? 
Did you not care enough for your old playmate to 
ask your mother about her ? ” 

Walter’s face clouded, and I saw that I had touched 
on a tender chord. 

“ My mother and myself have seen very little of 
each other of late,” said he, sadly. 6C You know she 
was somewhat arbitrary in her disposition (I thought 
I did, indeed), and she was greatly displeased with 
me for taking up with the new learning, and, as she 
said, abetting Sir John in the destroying of souls. 
She made the price of her blessing the abandonment 
of my most dear and inward convictions of truth, 
and as I could not comply, she even cast me off and 
disinherited me, so far as it was in her power to do 
so. Think you, I was wrong not to give way ? ” 

“ Whoso loveth his father or mother more than Me 


206 


Loveday's History . 


is not worthy of Me,” said I. His face brightened in 
a moment, and he said, in a low tone : 

“Then you, too, are a reader of the Evangel. 
Where did you learn that?” 

I told him, adding, “ I do wish you knew the Davis 
family. They are the best people in the world.” 

“ I know Master Hall and his wife, at least to speak 
to,” said he. “ She seems, indeed, like a most gen- 
erous woman, such as the wise man calls a crown to 
her husband.” 

“ But did your mother then disinherit you ? ” I 
asked. 

“ So far as it was in her power. Sir Edward left 
me certain lands which were not entailed, and a sum 
of money, and I had a small inheritance from my 
own father, so I have more than enough for all my 
wants — except books,” he added, smiling ; then sadly 
again: “I cared not for the inheritance, but it was 
hard to want a mother’s last blessing.” 

“ It was, indeed. But what do you here ?” 

“ The duke hath given me a place as master, to 
teach the young gentlemen their academe. His grace 
intimated to me that I might do as much or as little 
as I would, but I mean to earn his protection, which 
is of great value to me.” 

The entrance of Mistress Mandeville put an end to 
our talk for this time. The day was spent much as 
the last had been, save that we went abroad on the 
river with our mistress. She was fond of the water, 
and went out almost every day, and as I liked it also, 
while as Mistress Mandeville was terribly afraid of it, 
I came to be her usual companion in these expeditions. 

Kind as were my master and mistress, and much as 


Her Grace. 


207 


I learned to love them, it was a trying life, and one 
that I should never covet for a daughter of mine. It 
was a fatiguing, and yet an idle, life. Oh, how my 
fingers used to ache for something wherewith to busy 
themselves, during the hours when I stood by my 
mistress’s chair, and how weary grew my ears of the 
endless tittle-tattle of compliment and repartee. Some* 
times, indeed, we had talk which was worth hearing. 
The Duke entertained all the great scholars of the day, 
and I heard many discussions which made me forget 
all my weariness and disgust. One day I had the 
great pleasure of seeing my old friend, Dr. Hooper, 
and my lady, with her usual kindness, hearing that 
we were acquainted, made an opportunity for us to 
talk, together. He told me he had seen Master Davis’s 
family the day before, and that they were all well. 

“And you, my daughter, how fares it with you?” 
he asked, gently. “ I do not mean in health, since 
your face speaks for itself, but how fares it with your 
soul ? Do you keep your lamp trimmed and burning 
in the midst of all this splendor, and yourself as one 
who waiteth for the bridegroom ? ” 

“ Indeed, I try to,” I answered, feeling the tears 
very near mine eyes. “ But I do find it hard, many 
times, to collect my thoughts and keep them where 
they should be. My prayers seem forced, and as 
though they did not get out of the room.” 

Dr. Hooper smiled. “ They have no need to do so, 
perhaps, since He to whom they are addressed is Him- 
self in the room. But tell me, do you at such times 
give up and forbear to pray for that time ? ” 

“ Sometimes I have done so,” I answered, blushing. 

“ And do you not find prayer and meditation all the 


208 Loveday's History . 

harder the next time for such omissions?” he 
asked. 

I confessed that it was so. 

“ And so it will ever be,” said he. “ Believe me, 
daughter, the times when we need prayers most is 
when we enjoy them least. Then is the time to seek 
the mercy seat more earnestly than ever, and not to 
leave it till we have an answer of peace. Even 
though your prayers are but matters of simple 
obedience, they are of infinite value to your own soul. 
Tell me, is there not some charitable work that you 
can do to keep the springs of love fresh in your heart ? ” 

I thought of Mistress Patience, whom I had some- 
what neglected of late, excusing myself on the ground 
of having so little time to myself, and because she 
was often fretful and hard to please. 

“ Yes ! ” I answered. “ I might do such work if I 
chose — but — the truth is, Dr. Hooper, in the multi- 
tude of business and distractions I have forgotten God, 
and He I fear hath forgotten me.” 

“ Do you not believe that, dear maid,” said Dr. 
Hooper, earnestly. “He hath not forgotten you, 
but even now waits for you to return, and holds open 
the gate that you may enter. Go you to Him before 
you sleep, in penitence and prayer, and having con- 
fessed your sins and begged for pardon and cleansing, 
believe that you have them, and go on serving your 
Heavenly Master to the best of your ability, not ex- 
pecting thereby to win salvation, since that has al- 
ready been purchased for you, but that you may 
show your faith by your works, and set forward the 
kingdom of your Master.” 

This is not a record of religious experience ; but I 


Her Grac&. 


209 


may just say that 1 followed the good man’s advice, 
and found peace in so doing. The next morning I 
was up early, and while dressing I tried to think of 
some way to make my peace with Mistress Patience, 
who, I knew, had felt the loss of those attentions 
which I had begun by giving her. At last a plan 
struck me, which I hastened to put into execution. 
I found the old lady dressed, and sitting in her great 
chair. 

“ So, Mistress Corbet, I have not seen you for long,” 
said she, drawing herself up ; “but I am nobody 
now — only a poor old woman whom nobody cares 
for. I thought at first you were going to be like a 
daughter to me, but I see how it is.” 

“Now you discourage me,” said I, feeling her re- 
proach all the more that 1 deserved it. “ I had come 
to ask a great favor, and now I am afraid.” 

“ And what favor may that be ? ” she asked me, 
rather suspiciously, but yet relenting a little, as I 
thought. 

“ Even that you will teach me to knit,” I an- 
swered. “ My mistress says that you know how to 
knit hosen like those which come from Spain, and 
that you taught her mother.” 

. “ So I did, so I did,” she answered } “ and a sweet 
creature she was. -How well I remember when my 
Lord Willowby came a suitor for her hand;” and 
therewith she went off in a long description of the 
wedding, and bedding, and so forth, which kept her 
amused till it was time for me to go. “But you 
will teach me to knit ? ” said I, as I rose to leave her. 

“ That I will, that 1 will, dear maiden. I will hunt 
up my knitting-pins to-day, and will show you the 


210 


Lor eddy's History . 


motion, and how to put up the stitches. Just wheel 
my chair near to yonder cabinet, if you will, and I 
will see what I can find ; ” and so I left her happy in 
rummaging her drawers. 

The next morning she had found her pins, and 
gave me a lesson in knitting, over which we became 
quite good friends again. By degrees she opened 
her mind to me, and I found out what was the trou- 
ble which embittered her life. It seems that Queen 
Katherine, in her will, had provided that some one 
should make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Walsing- 
ham, for the benefit of her soul. This had never 
been done, and the poor^ faithful old servant was 
eating her heart with grief lest her mistress was still 
suffering in Purgatory on account of this omission. 

“ I would gladly have gone myself,” said she, “ but 
I had a broken leg ; and now there is no more any 
holy shrine at Walsingham. Oh, me! oh, me! 
That my poor mistress, who would have gone on foot 
to Rome to’ save the soul of a poor beggar, should 
suffer for want of such a charity as that.” 

She vept, and I could not forbear weeping with 
her, and trying to comfort her. 

“ Dear Mistress Patience,” said I ; “ Queen Kather- 
ine,was a Christian woman and trusted in her Saviour, 
who is all pity and compassion. Think you He loves 
her less than you do ? ” 

“ No,” said she, wonderingly, “ I suppose not.” 

“ Would he not love her just as much more than 
you, as he is greater than you — that is, infinitely ? ” 

“ Yes, belike He does. What theii ?” 

“ Then — do not be angry, dear lady — but would 
He leave her in such a dreadful place, because some 


Her Grace . 


211 


one did not do what was impossible. The Scripture 
saith that his blood cleansetli us from all sin. What 
need then of any further cleansing ? ” 

She looked doubtfully on me, and I had to leave 
her at that time ; but the next morning, as I took 
my knitting, she said, abruptly : 

“ Mistress Loveday, is what you said yesterday — 
about cleansing from sin — is that in the Bible ? — I 
mean the true Latin Bible, not that which the here- 
tics have put forth.” 

“ It is, indeed,” I answered. 

She sighed. “ I wish I could read it,” said she ; 
“ but I was never good at Latin, and now my eyes 
are failed, so I can scarce read English.” 

“ I will read it for you, dear madam,” said I. “ I 
have a Latin Bible, and I will read it into English 
for you, if you will.” 

“ Do so,” she answered. I fetched my book, and 
read to her such places as bore on the subject, as 
long as I had rime. When I was obliged to go away, 
she laid her hand on my arm, and fixing her eyes on 
mine, she said, with touching earnestness : 

“ You are a good maid and a fine scholar. You 
would not deceive me ? ” 

“ Not for the whole world,” I told her. 

“ Then tell me — are all these things in the English 
Bible?” 

“ They are indeed, dear madam, and much more.” 

“ I would I had one, that I could see for myself,” 
said she. 

“ Mine is fine print — I fear you could not read it,” 
said I ; and then, as a thought struck me : “ My 
lady hath given me leave to visit my friends to-day, 


212 


Lov eday's History. 


and I think I may be able to bring you the New Tes- 
tament in fair, large print.” 

Her face brightened, and then fell again. “But 
that may bring you into trouble,” said she. 

“ I think not,” I answered. “At all events, I will 
see what can be done.” She consented at last, giving 
me a gold piece to pay for the book, and to buy a 
fairing for myself. As I said, my mistress had given 
me leave to go spend the day with my friends, and 
Mistress Curtis sent one of the men to attend me to 
Master Hall’s, where 1 purposed to go first. I had 
been used to run back and forth between his house 
and Master Davis’s, but I was now a lady in a great 
house, so I must needs have a blue-coated serving- 
man at my heels. 

I found them all well and overjoyed to see me, but 
methought Master Hall was more sober than his wont, 
and Margaret’s fair brow had a shade of care. When 
we were alone together, I asked her if any ill fortune 
had befallen. 

“Nothing as yet,” she answered, “but, Loveday, 
we are living, as it were, on the edge of a quicksand 
which may any day open and engulf us. It hath some- 
how become known that my husband has been en- 
gaged in the printing and selling of English Bibles, 
or at least so we think. We are beset with spies. 
One of our best workmen, James Wells, hath disap- 
peared, and we can get no news of him.” 

“He may have been murdered in some street 
brawl,” said I ; “ you know there have been many of 
late.” 

“True; and he may have turned informer, perhaps, 
by force of the rack — who knows ? I am glad you 


Her Grace . 

Came to-day, for nobody knows when we shall meet 
again.” She looked about her, went to the door to 
see that it was fast, and then whispered in mine ear : 
“ In a week or two, perhaps in a few days, my hus- 
band will go to the Low Countries, and I shall follow 
him as soon as I can settle up our matters here.” 

This was news, indeed, and the worst I had heard 
for many a day. I could not forbear weeping over 
it, and Margaret joined her tears to mine. 

“ But we must not spend our last meeting in tears,” 
said she, presently, drying her eyes. “ Tell me, dear 
maid, how it fares with you and what you are doing ? ” 
With that, we fell into our old strain of talk, and it 
was a wonder to me to see how she seemed to forget 
her own concerns in mine, when I told her of Mrs. 
Patience. 

“ Alas, poor soul. She shall have what she wants, 
but not for hire or reward.” And going to one of 
the secret recesses, of which the house was full, she 
brought forth a fairly printed New Testament and a 
Psalter. 

“Give these to the poor lady and bid her bestow 
the price in charity,” s$id she. “ My husband will be 
only too glad to give the bread of life to one more 
perishing soul. But conceal them carefully. I 
would not have you brought into jeopardy. Your 
cousin, Sir Walter, tells me you are in great favor with 
your good lady.” 

“ She is, indeed, good — far beyond my deserts,” I 
answered: “ I never saw a sweeter young creature. 
She hath but one fault, and I sometimes fear that 
may bring her into trouble. She cannot refrain her 
tongue from any gibe or jest that comes to her. 


214 Loveday's History . 

Bishop Gardiner comes often to our house, and never, 
I think, without their having an encounter of wits, in 
which he is sure to come by the worst. I like not the 
way he looks at her, and believe, though he says not 
a word but of the most honeyed courtesy, he doth 
cherish in his heart both anger and revenge.” 

“ It is a pity,” said Margaret. “ He is a wicked and 
cruel man — one of the true Pharisees which Scripture 
says do shut up the Kingdom of Heaven, not entering 
himself nor suffering others to do so. He is a dan- 
gerous enemy.” 

“ I know I would not like him for mine, but I am 
too insignificant to draw his notice.” 

I dined with Margaret, and then we went together 
to her father’s house, she giving me a caution not to 
speak of what she had told me about her husband’s 
affairs, specially before Philippa. 

“ She would surely never betray you,” said I, start- 
led. Margaret shook her head. 

“ She might not be able to help herself. I trust 
nobody who goes to confession.” 

We found all well, and the children came near eat- 
ing me up in the warmth of tjieir welcome. I had 
brought my knitting, and Mistress Davis was at once 
on fire to learn the art, so I taught her as far as it could 
be learned in one lesson. I had made a little pair 
of red hosen for my pupil Helen, and great was the 
wonderment over them, for knitted hose were even 
more rare then than now. The only ones ever seen 
were brought out of Spain and sold for great prices. 

Philippa was in a generous mood, and full of curi- 
osity about my new way of living. I was willing to 
gratify her as far as was discreet, but she wanted to 


Her Grace . 


215 


hear more, and began asking me questions about the 
family. 

“ They say the Duke and Duchess do not well agree, 
and that he reproaches her with her wastefulness and 
love of dress, even before visitors,” said she. 

“ Nonsense,” I answered. “ The Duke is the very 
mirror and pink of courtesy to all, and especially to 
his wife.” 

“ But is she extravagant ? ” persisted Philippa. I 
hardly knew how to answer, for, in truth, I had 
thought my mistress more expenseful in her habits 
than was discreet at % all times, even with such a 
princely income as the Duke’s. Philippa went on, 
without waiting for a reply. 

“I have heard that her grace never wears the 
same gown twice, and that she hath as many sets 
of jewels as there are days in the year. Is that 
true, think you ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I never counted my mistress’s jew- 
els,” I answered rather shortly, for I was vexed and 
embarrassed. “ Take care, dear aunt, you have 
dropped a stitch. Let me take it up for you.” 

“ But you must have the chance to see all her fine 
things,” continued Philippa. “ Do you not take 
care of her jewels ? ” 

“No; she always puts them away herself.” 

“Is the Lady Frances at home?” was the next 
question. 

“No; she returns next week.” 

“ Folk say she hath the king’s temper,” observed 
Philippa. “ They say that she and her stepmother 
do not agree, and that when the Duchess cuffed her 
for her impertinence, she struck back and gave 


216 


Loveday's History . 


her mother a black eye. Was that so, think 
you ? ” 

“ I don’t believe it. I know nothing about my 
Lady Frances’s relations with her mother, and if I did, 
I would not tell it out of the family.” 

“ Why, what harm would it do ? ” asked Philippa. 

“ It would be treason to those whose bread she eats, 
and under whose protection she lives,” said Mistress 
Davis, with emphasis. “ And Loveday is right to 
refuse. There can be no greater or baser act of 
treachery, than for a servant in any station to tattle 
of the private concerns of her employers.” 

Philippa pouted. “ She told the children how the 
little lord rode his pony in the tilt-yard.” 

“ That was but child’s play,” said I, “ very different 
from w T hat you have asked. How would you like to 
have some one tell of all that happened in your fam- 
ily, supposing you had one ? ” 

“ Any how, a great many people do it, and think no 
harm.” 

“ They do harm, whether they think it or not,” an- 
swered Mistress Davis. “ Many a scandal and shame 
grows out of such tittle-tattle.” 

Philippa was silent for awhile, but her curiosity 
was too lively to allow her to sulk, as usual, and she 
presently began to ask me about the last court fash- 
ions, in gowns and headgear. I was willing to do her 
a pleasure, though surprised at her interest in such a 
matter, for she had always affected a great indifference 
to dress. I had observed, indeed, a change in her 
own attire. She no longer wore her everlasting 
black gown, but was becomingly dressed in blue 
' damask ; and her veil and close coif were exchanged 


Her Grace . 


21 ? 

for a becoming hood. When she left the room, I 
noticed the change to Mistress Davis, who smiled, 
somewhat mischievously. 

“Yes, she came to me not long since, and, saying 
she thought it her duty to submit to my wishes more 
than she had done, she asked my counsel about her 
attire. I have my own ideas about what the change 
portends, but I shall say nothing.” 

Master Davis now coming in, the subject was 
dropped, and did not come up again. 



CHAPTER X. 

AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 

HEN I returned to Suffolk House, which I 
took care to do in good season, I bestowed 
my book of the New Testament in my room, 
and the next morning I carried it to Mistress Patience, 
who received it with real pleasure. I read to her a 
little in the beginning of St. Matthew’s Gospel, and 
left her turning over the leaves and spelling out a 
verse here and there. She would by no means take 
back the price of the book, but bade me bestow it in 
charity, if I would not spend it for mine own pleas- 
ure. 

It was still early, when I went down stairs. I car- 
ried with me two books, one of songs, the other of 
lessons for the organ, which Master Hall had given 
me. I was playing one of these lessons with great 
pains, and stopping now and then, for it was some- 
what difficult, when I heard the door open. Suppos- 
ing it might be Mistress Mandeville, I did not speak 
till I had finished my lesson ; when I said, without 
looking round: “ There, Mistress Mandeville, how do 
you like that?” (We were always good friends, 
though never were two women who had less in com- 
mon.) 




At the Great House . 


219 


“It is not Mistress Mandeville, but I like it very 
much, indeed ! ” said a pleasant voice ; and, turning 
quickly, I beheld a young lady whom I had never seen 
before. She was, at that time, about fourteen, very 
pretty, even at that unformed age, with the yellow 
gold hair of her Tudor race, a fair complexion and 
merry eyes, which had yet a spark in them promis- 
ing a choleric disposition, if it were not checked in 
time. I guessed at once she was Lady Fiances Bran- 
don, the Duke’s youngest daughter, and was in some 
confusion. 

“ Nay, do not rise, but play me something else,” 
said she. “ I suppose you are my mother’s new gen- 
tlewoman, of whom I have heard ? ” 

“Yes, madam.” 

“ And I am Lady Frances, and I love music above 
all things,” said she. “I never heard any woman 
touch the organ as you do. I like it far better than 
spinet or clavichord, or any of their race, don’t 
you ? ” 

I told her yes, for sacred and solemn music, but for 
that which was lighter in character, I preferred the 
clavichord. She bade me play something else, and I 
obeyed, not knowing what else to do. She stood by 
in silence, drinking in the sounds with that fixed at- 
tention which is so flattering to the performer, and 
shows the real lover of music. Then I ventured to 
ask her if she did not play herself ? 

“ Oh, yes, a little, but not like you. I shall ask my 
mother to let you give me lessons.” 

Then, at my asking, she sat down to the virginal 
and played a simple lesson, not very accurately, but 
with true feeling. 


220 Lovedaifs History. 

“ There, what say you ? ” when she had finished. 
“ Shall I ever make a player ? ” 

“I see no reason why you should not,” I answered. 
“ You have hut to cultivate correctness in tone and 
touch to make a very good player, hut these last are 
essential.” 

She colored a little, and then said, with a half 
laugh : 

“ You are no courtier, Mistress — Corbet — you should 
have praised my playing to the skies, and sworn that 
you were listening to the music of the spheres. That 
is what I am used to.” 

“ Perhaps that is the trouble with your playing,” 
I could not forbear saying ; whereat she laughed 
again. 

“Worse and worse. Why you are downright 
Dunstable with a witness ; but I like you all the bet- 
ter,” she added. “ 1 think you and I shall be good 
friends. Say, Mistress Corbet, will you give me les- 
sons on the organ ?” 

“ Surely, Lady Frances, if your mother is willing,” 
said I. “ It must be as she says, you know.” 

“Of course. Do you know, Mistress Corbet, a 
lady tried to make me think I owed no obedience to 
my step-dame, because the king is mine uncle — what 
do you think ? ” 

“I think you are the most imprudent young lady 
that ever talked to a stranger,” was my thought, 
but I said — 

“ I am not the proper person to advise you, my 
Lady Frances, but if you will know what mine opinion 
is, I think that the precept — i Children obey your 
parents in the Lord,’ comes from one greater than all 


At the Great House . 


m 


the kings and princes of the earth. I think also that 
any young maid, gentle or simple, might be thankful 
to have such a step-dame as my mistress.” 

“And so do I,” she answered warmly. “And I 
won’t be set against her by any of them.” 

At this moment the door was opened by a severe- 
looking lady whom I had never seen before. Starch 
was not used in those days, or I might think she had 
been fed on nothing else since she was born, so stiffly 
did she carry herself. 

“My Lady Frances what are you doing here?” 
said she, in that kind of tone which excites rebellion 
in the heart of the best child that ever lived. “ Me- 
thinks you forget what is due to your rank in talking 
thus familiarly with this — you are her Grace’s cham- 
ber-woman if I mistake not ! ” she added, turning to 
me in a way that made her words a downright insult. 

I simply courtesied. 

“ How do you know whether I was talking 
familiarly or not?” demanded Lady Frances, saucily 
enough. “Were you at your old trick of eaves- 
dropping ? ” 

The gouvernante, for such she was, colored through 
all her rouge and powder, but she deigned no reply, 
save to bid Lady Frances follow her. But I think she 
kept her not long, for when I went to my mistress, I 
found Lady Frances kneeling by her side, playing 
with the tassels of her girdle and coaxingly preferring 
some request. 

“ So, Mistress Corbet, what mischief have you and 
this child been hatching up between you ? ” asked her 
Grace. “ Here she is begging and beseeching that 
you may give her lessons, she having, as she says, fallen 


Loveday's History . 


222 

in love with your playing. What say you? Will 
you take such a troublesome office upon yourself as 
the instruction of a perverse child ? ” she added, pull- 
ing her step-daughter’s ear. 

I told her I would willingly give Lady Frances all 
the help in my power if her Grace could spare me 
the time. 

“Well, w T ell, my Frances, we will talk to your 
father, and see what he has to say. But mind, Love- 
day, I am to have you to read aloud to me, and attend 
me on the water all the same. ’Tis sheer cruelty to 
take poor Mandeville into a boat.” 

I could not but think my time was likely to be 
fully occupied, but I never was afraid of work. By 
degrees, I drifted more and more into the position of 
governess to my Lady Frances. My Lady Challoner, 
who had never got on well with her charge — I never 
saw the human being that liked her — went awaj^, and 
another elderly lady, Mrs. Wardour, the widow of a 
brave soldier, took her place. She was a very dis- 
creet lady, who knew well how to control herself, and 
who soon won the respect of her charge. Lady 
Frances was docile enough with her, and soon learned 
to be ashamed of the tempest of passionate anger 
which I used to think Lady Challoner took delight in 
provoking, that she might have whereof to complain 
to the girl’s father. My Lady Frances was different 
from many high- tempered persons in this, that she did 
not always think some one else was to blame for her 
outbreaks, but laid the fault where it belonged, on 
her own choleric temper. She and I got on very 
well, and she improved so fast that it was a pleasure 
to teach her. 


At the Great House . 


223 


I still read to her Grace whenever she was at home 
of an evening, and attended her in her excursions 
upon the river, but I was excused from standing be- 
hind her chair, and another gentlewoman took my 
place. It was on our return from one of these water 
excursions that an event took place of which we 
thought little at the time, but which was destined to 
have important consequences for us both. We had 
landed at our usual place, when we saw a couple of 
burly, rude watermen threatening and bullying a pale 
man in black, who looked like a scholar of some sort. 
Even as we came up, one of them struck him a blow 
which staggered and nearly knocked him down. 

“ Shame, shame ! ” rang out the clear voice of the 
Duchess, who was not one of those over-prudent people 
who can never do a generous action without thinking 
about it till the occasion is past. “ Is that the way 
for Englishmen to treat a stranger and a poor man ? 
Let him alone, you brute ! ” For the bully, furious 
with anger, had again raised his hand. His com- 
panion, somewhat cooler, and seeing the Duke’s water- 
men, caught his arm and began to explain — 

“ He is no true man, my lady, but a beggarly 
Frenchman and a spy ! ” 

“No, no spy!” muttered the man, in imperfect 
English. He reeled as he spoke, and would have 
fallen into the water, had not one of our own serving- 
men caught him. The two rogues, seeing with whom 
they had to deal, began to comprehend that the matter 
might end badly for them, and slunk away in a hurry. 

“ Poor man, is he hurt? ” asked the Duchess, com- 
passionately. “ Speak to him, Mistress Corbet ; I dare 
say he knows Latin.” 


224 Loveday's History . 

I did so, but bis voice was so faint that I could 
not catch his answer. 

“I believe the man is starved, my lady,” said John 
Symonds, who was supporting him. “ He is naught 
but a bag of bones. Some beef and strong water 
would be the best remedy for his ail.” 

“ With your Grace’s leave, I will take this poor 
man in charge,” said a well-known voice, and Master 
Hall lifted his cap to the Duchess. “ He hath but 
fainted, as I think. Loveday, have you your scent- 
ing-bottle about you ? ” 

The Duchess looked surprised enough to hear this 
strange merchant call me by name. I handed him the 
bottle of strong perfume, which ladies then as now 
carried in their pockets, but the poor sufferer had 
already opened his eyes. 

“ Food — food ! ” said he ; “ I starve.” 

By this time a crowd was gathered. 

“ Please your Grace to move on,” said Master Hall, 
courteously. “I will care for the poor man, and 
bring you an account of him, if you will.” 

“ Do so, sir ; and we shall be your debtor,” said 
the Duchess, with the queenly grace which was natural 
to her. “ See that he is comfortably bestowed and 
wants for nothing. We take the expense on ourself.” 

She put two or three gold pieces into Master Hall’s 
hand, and we moved on. When we were in the house 
she sent for me, and asked me, with some little sharp- 
ness, who was that man who called me so familiarly 
by my name. I told her he v T as the son-in-law of 
my good friend, Master Davis, and the husband of my 
dearest friend. 

“Ay,” said she, “I heard you call him Master 


At the Great House . 


225 


Hall, but is he the man who is noted for selling sedi- 
tious and heretical books ? ” 

“ I dare to say, madam, that he never sold a seditious 
book in his life ! ” I answered. “ As to heresy, ’tis 
not so easy to tell in these days what is heresy and 
what is not.” 

“ And that is true ! ” said she, relapsing into her 
usual tone of kindness. “ But, Loveday, your friend 
is in danger. I heard his name mentioned last night 
as a principal dealer in forbidden books, and if Gar- 
diner gets his claws upon him, you know what his 
case will be.” 

“ I know, madam ! ” I answered, “but I trust he 
may be delivered from the power of that bad 
man.” 

“ And so do I, but a word to the wise is enough. 
Mayhap your cousin, being a scholar, will have occa- 
sion to go to this Master Hall’s shop to buy something. 
And, now I think of it, Frances tells me she wants 
a new book of lessons. Doth he deal in music ? ” 

I told her it was a great part of his trade, and she 
bade me tell my cousin, in case he went out, to go 
thither and buy what was needed, and also some paper 
and pens for herself. With that she dismissed me, 
and I went at once to find out Walter, and told him 
what I had heard. Walter looked very grave. 

“ Her Grace is right,” said he. “ There is no time 
to lose. I will go at once.” 

It may be guessed that I spent an anxious day. My 
fancy pictured Margaret in all sorts of dreadful pre- 
dicaments, and imagined the distress of Master Davis 
and his family. What a relief it was, and yet what 
a start it gave me that evening, as I was reading to 


226 Loveday's History . 

the Duchess and Lady Frances, to hear the gentleman 
usher say : 

A merchant of the city, Master Hall, hath brought 
some books and music, and desires an audience of 
your Grace upon business.” 

“ Have him in, have him in ! ” said the Duchess. 

‘ ‘ Good even to you, good Master Hall ! ” as he en- 
tered. “ What news of our poor client, whom you so 
kindly took in charge ? ” 

“ He is like to do well, your Grace,” answered Mas- 
ter Hall. “ All he needed was food. He told me he 
had not eaten in three days.” 

“ Alas ! poor man. Did he tell you what brought 
him to such straits ? ” 

“ Ay, madam. He is a poor Walloon minister, 
who had come to this country to seek a brother, whom 
he heard was very ill in London. His brother died, 
and he himself met with an accident which disabled 
him for a time. He spent all his money, and for the 
past few days hath been absolutely starving. He 
says he would have died, but for the charity of a poor 
woman who keeps a very small eating-house near the 
water side. But now the good dame herself is turned 
out of house and home by a grasping landlord, who 
hopes to make a few more pence of rent, and is her- 
self an object of charity.” 

“ I hope, with all my heart, the next tenant will 
cheat him of his rent altogether,” said the Duchess, with 
her usual outspoken freedom. “ Who are these Wal- 
loons, Master Hall, and where do they live ? ” 

“ They are a people of French origin, an’ it please 
your Grace, and live mostly about Leinburg, Liege, 
Namur, and the parts thereto adjacent. They are an 


At the Great House . 


227 

industrious, thriving race, and much given to learning 
as well as trade. I have often sojourned among them 
when I have been abroad, and have ever found them 
kind and hospitable to strangers.” 

“ So much the more need that strangers should be 
hospitable to them,” remarked the Duchess. “ And of 
what religion are they ? ” 

“They are Protestants, madam, holding by the 
Augsburg Confession.* This gentleman is one of 
their clergy.” 

“ So ! And what would you advise to be done for 
this poor man and his old landlady ? Speak freely,” 
added the Duchess, “ we need fear no spies here.” 

“ Since your Grace will have me be so bold, I would 
recommend that the poor woman be established once 
more in a house where she can carry on her business. 
A small payment in advance would enable her to rent 
a much better stand than before, and then Monsieur 
Claude could lodge with her till he is sufficiently 
recovered to return home.” 

“ That sounds like a good scheme ! ” said the 
Duchess, thoughtfully : “And how much would be 
required for all ? I mean to pay this poor woman’s 
first quarter and Monsieur Claude’s traveling ex- 
penses ! ” 

Master Hall named the sum, and the Duchess bade 
me take the money from her cabinet, and herself put 
it into his hand, with that sweet, graceful manner 
which made every such act on her part a personal 
favor.” 

* After Flanders fell under the power of Philip Second, a 
large number of Walloons emigrated to Holland and after- 
ward to the New Netherlands. They are, in fact, the ancestors 
of the Dutch Reformed Church. 


228 


Loveday's History . 


“ And now, let us see what books you have 
brought,” said she. “ Nothing seditious, I trust, since 
Mistress Corbet hath given her personal security that 
you do not deal in such matters, and it were a pity to 
shame her.” 

“ There is no fear of her being shamed by me ! ” 
said Master Hall ; “ at least so far as that goes — but 
knowing your Grace to be fond of prints and the 
like, I have ventured to bring two or three, and 
also some music books, if your Grace will accept so 
small an offering.” 

“ In truth, Master Hall, we shall be your debtors ! ” 
answered the Duchess : “ My daughter was even 

now petitioning for new music. Frances, let me hear 
you make your acknowledgments to Master Hall for 
the pleasure he hath given us.” 

Lady Frances did so in her usual pretty, frank fash- 
ion. Master Hall answered a question or two about 
the prints, and was just upon taking his leave, when 
the Duke entered. There was an unusual cloud on 
his brow, and he looked both grave and angry. 

“ What gear is here ? ” he asked. “ Ha, my good 
friend, Master Hall, this is a fortunate chance. I 
have business with you, and was about to send for 
you. Leave the ladies with their books, and come 
you to my cabinet. This is a matter that brooks no 
delay?” 

I saw Master Hall change color for a moment, and 
then he was himself again. As he bade me good- 
night, he whispered in my ear : 

“ Loveday, if I am not seen again* take my love 
and blessing to Margaret.” 

It may be believed I had no stomach for music that 


At the Great House . 


229 


night, and the Duchess seeing or guessing that some- 
thing was the matter, dismissed me at an early hour. 
The next morning she sent for me to come to her at 
least an hour earlier than usual. When I entered her 
dressing room, I found the Duke there before me. 

“ Mistress Corbet,” said he, after he had himself 
closed the door, and made sure there were no eaves- 
droppers, “ my wife tells me that you are a model 
of discretion, and can keep secrets.” 

“ Her Grace praises me too highly,” said I, wonder- 
ing what could be coming next : “ I may venture to 
say that I am no tale-pyet at the least.” 

“ I trust not, for in truth I have to put into your 
hands a somewhat weighty matter. A warrant will 
be issued this morning to take your friends, Master 
Hall and his wife, for heresy, and for publishing and 
selling heretical books.” 

The world seemed to turn round with me, but I did 
not altogether lose my wits. 

“ I must warn them ! ” were the words which seemed 
to come of themselves from my lip. 

“ There is no need ! ” said his Grace, " they have 
already escaped, and I have good hope that they are 
by this time beyond reach of pursuit.” 

“ May God bless your Grace ! ” said I. 

“ Nay, you are not to think that I had any thing to 
do with the matter, and it is of this I would warn 
you ! ” said he. “ But now of warnings that concern 
your own safety. Had you any books or other things 
with your name on at Mistress Hall’s ? ” 

“ No, your Grace ? ” 

“ That is well ; but have you had any communings 
with her, so as to know the secrets of the business ? 


230 


Loveday's History . 


Speak freely, maiden. Trust me, I have no wish but 
to stand your friend.” 

Thus reassured, I told his Grace that I had never 
had aught to do with Master Hall’s business, save 
that I had helped to correct the proofs of Erasmus 
his Paraphrase and Colloquies.” 

“ There was no harm in that. But have you 
bought no books of them which might bring you into 
trouble if known ? ” 

“ 1 have not bought any, your Grace,” I answered. 
“ Mistress Patience did greatly want an English Bible, 
and Margaret did give me a Testament and also a 
Psalter for her use, which I gave her, and which are 
now in her room.” 

“ Mistress Patience ! ” they both exclaimed together, 
and the Duke added with some sternness, “ beware 
what you say, Mistress. I have ever thought Mis- 
tress Patience the most devoted of Papists.” 

“ She thinks herself so still, your Grace ! ” said I ; 
and then I told him the matter from first to last. 
The Duke could not forbear smiling. 

“ ’Twas a deed of true Christian charity, and most 
deftly managed ! ” said he ; “ but yet it might make 
matters worse were it known. Tell me, does this old 
dame go to confession ? ” 

“No, your Grace. She is not able to walk the 
length of the gallery. Her strength is greatly failed 
of late, and I think not she will live long.” 

“ And does any priest have access to her ? ” 

“No one, as I think, but my cousin Walter, your 
Grace’s chaplain,” (for Walter had been promoted to 
this place some time since, and had preached in the 
chapel more than once.) “Walter has prayed with 


At the Great House . 


231 


her two or three times, so she has told me, for I see 
not as much of her, now that I live in my Lady 
Frances’s apartment.” 

“ That may be safe enough ! ” said he, pulling his 
beard as was his wont when he was thoughtful. 
“ Hawks will not pick out hawks’ eyes, as they say on 
the Border. Well, Mistress Corbet, I believe you are 
safe for the present, but I would have you keep your 
chamber this day. Your mistress will excuse your 
attendance, and ” 

His words received a disagreeable interruption. 
The house had been finished in some haste, and more 
than once small pieces of plaster had fallen from the 
ceiling. Now, casting my eyes upward, I saw that 
directly over where the Duchess was sitting in a low 
chair, a great portion of the ceiling was parting, and 
even at that moment falling. There was no time 
to think. I sprang upon her, pulling her to the 
floor, and threw myself over her. 

At the very moment I felt a heavy blow oh my 
shoulders and head, and knew no more till I heard a 
familiar voice say, in a tone of utmost anguish : 

“ Loveday, Loveday — my darling, for my sake, 
look up ! ” 

Then I opened mine eyes, and saw my kinsman 
standing over me, a lancet in his hand, while the 
blood was streaming from my arm. There were 
others about me, but I saw no one else. 

“ Her Grace ! ” I managed to say. 

“ Is quite unhurt, thanks to you, my brave child,” 
said Mistress Curtis. “ You have saved her life.” 

“ Then all is well,” said I, sinking back. That was 
all I cared to know. For days I lay in great danger, 


232 


Loveday's History . 


but not in any great suffering. Sometimes I recog- 
nized those about me, and sometimes not, but I suf- 
fered little, and lay most of the time in a kind of 
contented apathy. I had the best attendance, and 
Master Butts, the king’s own physician, came to see 
me at the Duke’s instance. He was a kind, benevolent 
old man, and much valued by the king, though he 
made no secret of his leaning to the new doctrine. I 
understood all his questions, and made a great effort 
to answer them clearly, but I was conscious all the 
time that I was talking arrant nonsense. I saw him 
shake his head as he turned away. 

“ I fear there is not much hope,” I heard him say, 
in a low tone to Mistress Curtis. “ If she lives she 
will be a lunatic, or more likely, an idiot.” 

I understood his words, and they somehow angered 
me and roused me from the lethargy which w r as again 
stealing over, my senses. I made a great effort to 
collect myself, .and said, rather sharply : 

“I won’t be an idiot ! I know what I wish to say, 
but — ” the wrong word was near coming again, but 
I caught it in time — “I don’t say the words I 
mean.” 

“ Exactly,” said the doctor, returning to the bed- 
side, and regarding me with renewed interest. “ You 
know what you mean, all the time you are saying 
something else. Is that so ? ” 

“ Y es, sir, ” I answered. 

“ Well, you must be a good girl and do as you are 
bid, and we will hope for the best. I think, Mistress 
Curtis, with all respect to Dr. Benton’s opinion — ” 
here he bowed to the other physician, who bowed 
again — “ I think it would be well to try our patient 


At the Great House . 


233 


with a little more nourishing diet— carefully, and by 
degrees, Dr. Benton — and watch the effect, and if 
there is any friend she specially wishes to see — as I 
think you told me she asked for some one ? ” 

“ Yes, she has often asked for her Aunt Davis.” 

“ Then, let her see her aunt, for a few moments at 
a time, only cautioning her to avoid all exciting 
topics. In short, Mistress Curtis, you might as well 
let her have what she wants, poor thing. I do not 
believe it will make any difference.” 

These words were spoken at the door, and I was not 
supposed to hear them, but I did, and knew their im- 
port well enough. I was not at all troubled at the 
idea of dying, but somehow I seemed to have an as- 
surance in my mind that the end was not yet. Mis- 
tress Curtis brought me a dainty little mess of frumity 
with cream, and having eaten it I turned over and 
went to sleep. I must have slept long, for when I 
waked it was growing dark. I was quite easy in re- 
spect of pain, and my head felt clear. I looked up 
and thought I was dreaming again, when I saw an up- 
right little figure seated by the side of my bed. 

“ Aunt Davis, is this really yourself ? ” I asked, put- 
ting out my hand to feel if she were a substantial 
person. 

“ Yes, my sweet,” tranquilly answered the dear 
woman. She was never one to give way to fits and 
transports. “ Mistress Curtis gave me leave to sit 
with you awhile. Do you feel better?” 

“ I believe I do,” I answered. “ My head does not 
ache now, and I can see every thing clearly.” It had 
been one of my worst annoyances that I saw all objects 
either double or distorted. My aunt felt my pulse 


234 


Loveday's History . 


and my forehead, and helped me to a drink. Then 
she sat down again, and for awhile I was content to 
lie and look at her. She had grown old a good deal, 
it seemed to me. And her face had a look of patient 
endurance which did not use to belong to it. 

“ Aunt,” I asked, presently, “ where is Margaret ? ” 

“ Safe, as we hope,” answered Mistress Davis. “We 
know the vessel reached the Brill in safety, and once 
there, Master Hall would be among good friends.” 

“ Thank God — and how is Master Davis?” 

“ He is well,” she answered. “ We were in peril 
for a time, but we have been unmolested.” 

Satisfied on these points, I lay awhile longer. 
Then I asked again, “ How is Philippa ? ” 

A smile played over Mistress Davis’s face which 
made her look like herself again. 

“ Why well, and more than well,” said she. “ Phil- 
ippa is married.” 

“ Married ! ” I exclaimed. 

“ Even so, and to whom, think you ? To no one 
less than Robert Collins.” 

“ Not Robert Collins — A vice’s cousin — not the one 
who was to have become a brother of the Charter- 
house,” said I. 

“ Exactly. That very Robert Collins.” 

I burst out laughing, and somehow that laugh did 
seem to dissipate the last cloud from my brain. 

“ But how did it come about ? They used to be- 
wail their hard fate together in not being allowed to 
take the vows.” 

“ Exactly, and they continued to bewail them till 
it came into their heads that since they could not take 
those vows they might as well try some others. 


At the Great Souse. 


235 


Moreover, Robert came unexpectedly into quite a 
good estate by the death of his mother’s brother. 
He thought it his duty to take a wife, as he was the 
last of his father’s family, and so it came about.” 

“ I dare say Philippa persuaded herself all the time 
that she was making a great sacrifice ? ” 

“ Oh, of course; but she was as elated at the prospect 
as any girl I ever saw, and as much agog for finery, 
especially for a silk dress. One of the first things 
that seemed to strike her was that, as Robert was a 
gentleman of landed estate, she might now wear silk 
and velvet.” 

“ It must be a comfort to have her — ” out of the 
house, I was going to say, but I changed that phrase 
to “ well settled in life.” 

My aunt smiled. “ I will not deny that it is a 
relief. She was one of those people of whom you can 
never guess what they will do next. But she has 
been more amiable of late, and as Robert is a good- 
humored man with a will of his own, I hope they 
may be reasonably happy.” 

“ He would need a good strong will, or none at all, 
to live peaceably with her,” said I. “ In all my life I 
never saw so perverse a person.” 

“Well, well, she was a trial, no doubt, but there 
are others as bad. This is a life of trial, sweetheart, 
in one way and another. But it grows dark and I 
must go. I will see you again in a day or two, if you 
are no worse for this visit.” 

I slept well that night and awoke feeling quite my- 
self. From that day my recovery was rapid. The doc- 
tor said I might soon leave my chamber, and he advised 
my mistress that it would be well to send me to Mas- 


236 Loveday's History . 

ter Davis’s, for a while, or else to the country, for 
change of scene. 

“ How would you like to go down to Master Yates’s 
farm ? ” asked my aunt one day when we were discus- 
sing the matter. “You remember you staid there 
when you were getting over the ague, before you went 
to the convent.” 

“ Then the old people are still living ? ” I said. 

“ Oh, yes ; hale and hearty and well-to-do, and 
would be glad to have you for a guest. I think it 
would be a very good thing for you.” 

“ And the Duchess ? ” 

“ I mentioned the matter to her and she agreed 
with me that it would be a sensible move, though she 
disliked losing your company. But she is not one to 
think of herself.” 

“ That she is not,” said I. “ She is a most sweet 
creature. She shows the truth of what dear Mar- 
garet used to say, that it is not wealth nor the want 
thereof that spoils people, but the spirit in which they 
take it.” 

“ Then you will like to go out to Holworthy farm ? ” 
said my aunt. 

“ Indeed I shall,” I answered, and the Duchess com- 
ing in (as indeed she was used to visit me every day), 
the matter was settled. 

“ I must visit Mrs. Patience before I go,” said I. 
“ How is the dear old lady ? ” 

“ Why well,” answered Mrs. Curtis, but there was 
something in her tone that made me ask at once : 

“ Is she dead ? ” 

“ Even so,” answered Mistress Curtis, solemnly ; 
“ but do not weep for her, dear Loveday. She passed 


At the Great Souse. 


23? 

in the greatest peace and joy that was ever seen. She 
told Master Walter, who prayed often beside her, 
that you had taught her the true way of peace, and 
had comforted her concerning the great sorrow of 
her life.” 

“ I am most thankful if it were so,” said I, when I 
could speak; and then I told Mistress Curtis of the 
dear loyal soul’s trouble because no one had made the 
pilgrimage to Walsingham on behalf of her dead mis- 
tress. 

“ And was it even so, poor soul ? ” said Mistress Cur- 
tis. “I doubt not, many hearts are aching from the 
same cause in these days of change and shaking. 
May the time soon come when all shall know the 
blessing of a free redemption. Master Corbet says 
he never saw any one pass more peacefully than Mis- 
tress Patience. 

“ Is my cousin well ? ” I forced myself to say. I 
had never yet brought myself to speak his name. 

“ I do not think him well,” answered Mistress Cur- 
tis. “ He hath been very anxious for you, and I 
think he works and studies too hard, for he grows 
pale and thin. He talks of resigning his post, and 
going back to his cure in the west, but I trust he will 
not do so, for the sake of one young gentleman over 
whom he hath come to maintain a great influence.” 

It was a joy to me to hear Walter praised, but I 
could not bring myself to say any more about him. I 
had had plenty of time to think and to examine myself 
since I began to recover, spending as I did a good 
many hours alone. I knew well enough what Walter 
was to me, and I to him. I had been thrown a deal 
into his company for a good while before I was sick, 


m 


Loveday's History . 


he having undertaken in some degree the direction of 
my Lady Frances’s education. We had been brought 
up together as children, which naturally threw us 
upon more familiar terms than would otherwise have 
subsisted between us. It was not strange that an- 
other and dearer feeling should have arisen, and that 
without either being aware of it till the shock of my 
accident had revealed us to each other. But what 
could ever come of it ? Only for that fatal vow of 
celibacy we might have married and settled like other 
folk, for our kinship was hardly near enough for 
the need of a dispensation even in the days of dispen- 
sation, and nobody thought of such a thing now. 
But there it was, an iron bar in the way, or rather a 
grated gate fast locked and the key whereof is held 
by some one far away. We could see one another, 
indeed, but that was all, and under the circumstances 
it was better to avoid even that. Yes, it was far bet- 
ter for me to go away, and a wild unreasoning desire 
for flight and change of place took possession of me. 
I do not think any one guessed at the truth, except 
the Duchess herself. She has since told me that she 
saw it at once, and not at that time perceiving any rem- 
edy, she did the more willingly part with me. Lady 
Frances was loud in her lamentations, and inclined to be 
vexed with me for wishing to leave her; but a few words 
from her mother calmed her anger, or rather turned it 
upon herself, for being, as she said, so selfish as to desire 
to keep me for my hurt. Both the Duchess and Lady 
Frances loaded me with presents of every thing they 
thought I would like, and I found myself heir to all 
poor Mistress Patience’s possessions, among which 
were a good many jewels of no small value, which I 


At the Great House . 


239 


hesitated about taking till the Duchess pressed them 
upon me. 

“ You cannot well take the cabinet, so I will have 
it cared for till you are settled in a home of your 
own,” said she. 

“ That will never be,” said I, involuntarily. 

“ Oh, you know not that,” she answered, and began 
singing an old song of which I remember but the last 
verse : 

“ If you should deal two loving hearts 
The sharpest stroke of woe ; 

That one should weep above the turf 
And one should sleep below : 

That one should wear the widow’s weed 
And one the funeral pall. 

You should but prove the force of love, 

For true love conquers all ! ” 

“ Forgive, me sweet,” as she saw that I was weep- 
ing, “ but I do believe that this year may yet come to 
a good ending. Man hath no right to forbid that 
which God hath nowhere forbidden. Do but put 
your trust in Him, and all will yet be well.” 

The Duke had insisted upon lending Mistress Davis 
an easy palfrey, and me a horse litter, as I was yet 
too feeble to ride a-horseback safely, and also a 
guard for the journey. My mistress would fain have 
had me take a maid to attend upon me, but this, with 
Mistress Curtis her approval, I declined, knowing 
that such a person would but be a nuisance in the 
family of plain people like Jacob and Hannah Yates. 
I was to keep the palfrey, however, and the duke 
would bear this as well as all my other expenses. 

“ Should this change agree with you, you may by 


240 


Loveday*s History. 


and by travel down to Hereham,” said liis Grace, “ but 
wherever you are, remember, Mistress Corbet, that 
you are to be to us as a daughter. Do what I would, 
I could never begin to repay the obligation I owe to 
you in saving my dear wife from death or life-long 
injury.” 

“ I thought not of any obligation, your Grace,” 
said I. 

“ That is the beauty of it,” he answered, with that 
sweet, sunny smile of his ; my Lady Frances’s eldest 
boy hath just his grandsire’s manner ; “you did not 
stop to think — that was the beauty of it, as I say — 
but acted out of the love and goodness of your heart. 
It was a happy hour for all of us when you came un- 
der this roof, and I hope you may come back to it 
some day. But now, my child, let me give you a 
word of serious counsel. Keep you close and 
guarded, and go not much abroad. There is no game 
too small for some hawks to fly at. I would I knew 
where your good uncle was that I might send you to 
him, out of the reach of danger. If at any time I 
send one to guide you to another place of safety, I 
will send with him this token,” showing me a ring he 
was used to wear, “ and do you go with him at once, 
without any delay or question.” 

I promised to do so, and so he bade me farewell, 
with as much kindness as ever a great man showed 
to a poor young gentlewoman. He hath ever re- 
mained in my mind the very mirror and pattern of a 
noble man. He was not without his faults (as who 
is ?), but no one could say he ever curried favor with 
a great man, or ever oppressed a poor one. Not one 
of his own family, down to the very scullery boys 


At the Great House . 241 

and wenches, ever passed him without a smile or a 
kind word, and nobody ever sat at his table without 
feeling himself a welcome guest. He was, indeed, 
what my uncle Davis had called him, a mirror of true 
knighthood. 

I saW Walter for a few minutes, and then not 
alone. It was better so; yet did my heart yearn for a 
word, as I am sure his did also. He hath since told 
me he dared not trust himself to speak lest he should 
say too much. Our eyes did meet and speak ; we 
could not help that. Oh, how much have they to 
answer for, w T ho oppress men’s hearts and consciences 
by making that to be sin which the Word of God 
never made so ; who bind heavy burdens and grievous 
to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders, and 
will not so much as touch them with one of their 
fingers ! 

Our hands met in one long clasp as he helped 
me to my litter. I never thought to see him again, 
for I had heard that he meant speedily to return to his 
home in the west. The last farewell was said, and I 
lost sight of Sussex House never to enter its doors 
again. 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE DUKE’S RING. 

ARRIVED at Holworthy farm about noon, 
weary enough with my journey and all the ex- 
citement I had gone through, so that I was fain 
to go at once to my chamber. I was really too ill to 
take much notice of any thing for a day or two, and my 
aunt was a good deal alarmed for me, but by degrees I 
recovered myself, and began to sit up and to go out into 
the sitting-room which had been fitted up for me. I 
found it full of tokens of kindness from the friends I 
had left behind me. There was the clavichord 
which I had used at Sussex House, with a pile of 
music books beside it, my embroidery frame, and a 
heap of silks, and the like, books in Latin and French, 
and even a box of comfits and dried fruits from old 
Harry Cook — so good were they all in remembering 
me. 

I found the farmer and his wife very little 
changed, save that Hannah’s apple cheeks were a little 
wrinkled by the same frost which had whitened her 
husband’s locks. Dolly was still at home, a widow 
now with a sweet little boy and girl, the pets and 
darlings of both gaffer and gammar. Matters had 



The Duke's Ring. 


243 


prospered with this good couple, and they were rich 
for people in their station, but they were content with 
their old simple ways, and did not ape the manners of 
their betters as is the fashion nowadays. You 
would never find Hannah Yates lying in bed till after 
five of the clock and putting off her dinner hour 
till eleven. No ; she was up and stirring, and had 
every one else busy by four, and the dinner was on 
the table before the stroke of nine — master and mis- 
tress, men and maids all eating together in the great 
kitchen, and gathering about the same hearth in the 
winter evenings. Hannah would fain have served us 
with a separate table, but this we would by no means 
allow, and I think she liked us, after all, better for the 
refusal. 

I grew stronger every day, and began to go about 
house and out of doors, to help feed the fowls, and 
to gather greens, peas and herbs for the pottage ; but 
mindful of his Grace’s words, I did never stray far from 
home. My aunt staid with me a week, and then re- 
turned, but I heard from her not seldom, as the Duchess 
sent more than once to ask for me, and never without 
affording Master and Mistress Davis a chance of writ- 
ing or sending by the same conveyance. 

As my health returned, I began to miss the constant 
occupation I had been used to all my life. I had 
often been ready to yawn my head off from sheer 
weariness while standing behind my mistress’s chair, 
but at other times I had found great entertainment in 
listening to the conversation which went on in the 
drawing-room. Then I had been promoted to the 
place of teacher to my Lady Frances, who was a de- 
lightful companion (if I may venture to use the word 


244 JLoveday's History. 

of so great a young lady), as was also her governess, 
Mrs. Wardour. I loved Mistress Curtis like a mother, 
and I missed them all, not to speak of another, on 
whom I dared not allow my thoughts to dwell. I was 
fast sinking into a state of nerves and fancies, just for 
the want of aught else to do, when something hap- 
pened to rouse me. It was not much — only a sermon 
from a stranger priest who visited our own parish 
Sir John, and preached for him. His subject was the 
bearing of the cross, and he repeated for his text the 
words of our Lord himself : 

“ Gyf any man will come after me, let hym denye 
hym silfe, and take his cross on hym and followe 
me.” * 

It did seem to me that the good man’s discourse had 
been written expressly for me. It was as plain as a 
mother’s talk with her children ; not full of Latin, 
nor yet of stories to make the people laugh, like those 
of the preaching friars in general. The preacher 
showed how each one had his cross to bear, and that 
not of his own choosing, but of God’s. The crosses 
we chose for ourselves were many times but painted 
crosses, while those which our Father in heaven laid 
upon us were real — hard and sharp oftentimes, but 
yet capable of being made into a blessing if we did 
but take them up and carry them according to His 
will and in his spirit. Much more he said which I 
will not try to repeat — about the little crosses of every 
day, the thwarting of our plans, the fault-findings 
and injustice of those we are trying our best to save, 
and other such like trials, which might all be turned — 


*From Tyndale’s translation. 


The Duke's Ring. 


245 


so said the preacher — 'from curses to crosses, if only 
met in the right spirit. It was a very plain and sim- 
ple discourse as I said, but it did me a great deal of 
good. It made me sensible that I had been repining 
and fretting over my cross instead of taking it up, 
and that I had thus missed the blessing which I might 
have found even in the bitter grief which had been 
darkening both heaven and earth for me. 

“ What think you of that sermon ? ” said Master 
Yates to one of his neighbors, as they lingered at the 
church door for the usual greeting and gossip. 

“ Humph ! Call that a sermon ! ” answered the 
other. “ Why, there was not a bit of Latin in it, 
and even a plain man like me could understand every 
word.” 

“ Now that was the beauty of it, to my thinking,” 
said Master Yates. “ Where is the use of a sermon 
that nobody understands ? ” 

“ Yes, those are your new-fangled ways. What is 
the use of the blessed mass ; I am sure nobody un- 
derstood a word of that ? ” 

“ A good many folks would like to hear that riddle 
solved,” said a decent man who stood near. Whereat 
two or three laughed, and old Master Andrews moved 
away, muttering angrily that it was never a good 
world since these new notions came into it. A fine 
thing, indeed, when shepherds and plowmen took on 
them to think about such matters. 

For myself, I went home with plenty of subject 
for thought, and the result of my cogitations was 
that the next morning I offered to teach Dolly’s chil- 
dren to read. She was very thankful for the offer, 
and I began with them on the criss-cross row that 


246 


Loveday's History . 


very day. Afterward I set myself a task of music 
and Latin, and even got out my Greek books, but the 
last I had to give up, finding myself unequal to the 
hard work. I soon discovered that my head would 
not bear much study, so I set myself to learning the 
mysteries of farm-work. I fed the chickens and the 
calves, learned to make cheese and butter, and, in 
turn, taught Dolly and her mother how to make con- 
serves of gooseberries and plums, and other such 
things as I had learned in the convent. I had the art 
of distilling — then by no means as common as it has 
since become — at my finger’s ends. Finding that 
there was a great deal of ague about us, I begged 
Mistress Curtis to send me a small still, and busied my- 
self in making a certain bitter cordial from cherry 
bark and herbs, which used to be esteemed a specific 
in such cases at Dartford. Also, I made cough-mix- 
ture and other simple medicines, and carried them 
myself to the poor sick folks, together with broth 
and such matters. I have heard say that folks forget 
their own troubles in those of other people. I did 
not forget mine, but I certainly found a good deal of 
the bitterness taken out of them. 

I believe I have said that there was a certain 
ruined chapel or cell on Master Yates his farm, 
which bore no good name, and was indeed re- 
puted to be haunted by evil spirits. Nobody 
willingly wSnt near it even in broad day, 
and I don’t think the boldest man in the neighbor- 
hood would have passed it after dark for any reward 
you could offer. Indeed Master Yates had strictly 
forbidden any of his own family to approach the 
place, saying that there was no knowing what might 


The Duke's Ring . 


247 


happen. I had been to the little hamlet near the 
church to visit and comfort a poor young thing dying 
of a waste. My mind was so full of what I had seen 
that I took the wrong turning, and found myself all 
of a sudden close in front of the ruined cell, with the 
sun setting and a sudden hard shower beginning to 
fall. Still I did not really take a sense of my position, 
but seeing that the deep porch was the only shelter 
near, I fled under it to avoid the rain which promised 
to be of short duration, as the sun was already shin- 
ing. I was never a coward, and the poor little chapel 
looked so peaceful in its green ivy shroud, that I 
could not make up my mind to be afraid, but stood 
quietly waiting for the rain to cease. I was listening 
to the twittering of a pair of robins who had built in 
one of the windows, and thinking that the place could 
not be so very bad since these pretty innocent crea- 
tures had chosen it for a place of abode, when I 
started as I had never done in all my life before, for I 
heard my name called. I turned round in a hurry, 
and there in the dim arched doorway stood my uncle. 

I was like one who has seen the Gorgon’s head 
for a moment. Then as he smiled in his old way I 
flew to him — I would have fallen at his feet, but he 
drew me into the cell, and then clasping me in his 
arms, he kissed and blessed me, calling me his 
own, his precious child, and weeping over me, 
more like a mother over her babe than arbearded man. 

“ But how did you come here, and why do you stay 
in this wretched place ? ” I asked, when he had told 
me that my Aunt Joyce was still living and that the 
twins were well. “ Come to the house where Mistress 
Yates will make you right welcome.” 


248 Love'day's History . 

“ Nay, that the good woman hath done already, 
and the place is by no means so wretched as you 
think,” said mine uncle; “ I am not the first who hath 
found shelter in these walls. See here.” 

The ruin, like other places of that kind, was made 
up of a little chapel where the hermit said his daily 
office, and a room adjoining where he had lived. 
Mine uncle drew me into this cell, for it was little 
more, and showed me a decent truckle bed with 
blankets and a pillow, and a table whereon was set 
out a lamp, tumblers, and other requisites for a meal. 
On the hearth was a pile of firewood, and in a little 
cabinet were drinking cups, a small bottle of strong 
waters and a jug of oil for the lamp. In short, this 
ghost-haunted ruin was as comfortable a little lodg- 
ing as one need ask for. 

“ But how came you here ? ” I asked. 

“ On my feet, sweetheart — and I came because I 
heard my child was here, and I could not rest without 
seeing her.” 

“ But why must you hide, dear uncle ? ” I asked. 

“ For no cause, my child, unless it be that, ‘ after the 
way they call heresy, so worship I the God of my 
fathers.’ I have been in my old home in London and 
must return thither in order to make my way back to 
Holland ; but, as I said, I must needs see my child 
once more, and so I came down to this place which 
hath sheltered many a one fleeing from the snare of the 
fowler before now. But, Loveday, is it safe for you 
to tarry here ? Will they not be looking for you ? ” 

“ It is true — I must go ! ” said I, awaking all at 
once to a sense of my situation. 

“ But how shall I see you again ? ” 


The Duke's Ding. 


249 


“ Yates will come hither at midnight to bring me 
provisions, and you can come with him.” 

“ Then he knows you are here ! ” 

“ He will know ! ” said mine uncle, smiling. “ The 
very thing which will keep others away will bring 
him to succor the wanderer — See ! ” 

I had before noticed some pipes, which looked like 
the remains of an old organ, on the wall behind the 
niche where I supposed the miraculous image had 
stood. My uncle blew into one of these, producing a 
most dolorous sound between a whistle and a scream. 
I understood the matter at once. That was the 
ghost whose shrieks, heard at night, had made the 
place so dreadful. 

“ This pipe was a part, no doubt, of the machinery 
by which the miraculous virgin was made to play her 
part,” said mine uncle. “ But go you now, since the way 
is clear, and at midnight we will meet again.” 

I hurried home, but mistook my path again in 
the perturbation of my spirits, and came near getting 
bogged in a stream which I had to cross. However, 
I reached home at last, and was met at the door by 
Cicely, our old dairy maid — 

“ Dear me, Mistress Corbet, I wonder you dare be 
abroad so late. Why, Hodge heard a scream from 
the old cell, not an hour ago, which sent him home 
shaking like an ague. You are over venturesome, 
and will get a good fright some day, but, indeed, you 
look as if you had had that already.” 

“ That I did, and lost my way, so I had to ford the 
Black brook, and a fine pickle I am in ! ” said I, 
showing her my wet feet and skirts. “ I must change 
my hosen directly.” 


250 


Loveday's History. 


“That you must, but why did you not go back 
— only I dare say you were afraid ! ” said Cicely, 
being one of those convenient persons who always 
answer their own questions. “ There, run up to your 
room, like a good young lady, and I will bring you a 
mug of hot drink, and tell the mistress you are safe, 
for she has been worrying about you. Had you not 
best go to your warm bed ? ” 

“ Oh no ! ” I answered. “ I will but change my 
clothes, and 1 shall be none the worse. I dare say the 
mistress’s ankle needs bandaging again.” For Mis- 
tress Yates had had the misfortune to wrench her 
ankle, and I had been trying my surgical skill thereon 
with very good results. 

“ Well, you are a good maid — young lady, I should 
say ! ” said Cicely, correcting herself, for she had 
lived in a great family, and prided herself on her 
knowledge of manners. “You are not one as thinks 
first and always of. herself. But don’t you be out 
after dark — there’s a good maid, and above all, don’t 
go near the old chapel.” 

I hastened to change my dress, and to attend to my 
patient, who was doing well. Then seeking out 
Master Yates, I told him of my adventure. 

“Ay, I heard the signal and saw the light, and 
guessed it was my good old landlord who needed 
help ! ” said Master Yates, thoughtfully stroking his 
beard. “ I had word by a sure hand that he was to 
be expected, and had all things in readiness, and I 
was studying to advertise you of the same. I did not 
like to tell you till I was sure, for fear of a disap- 
pointment. To-night, then, at midnight we will seek 
the place, if you be not afraid — but I see I need not 
talk of that ! ” he added, smiling. 


The Duke’s Ring . 251 

“ No indeed ! ” said I. “ At midnight, then, I will 
be ready.” 

The chime of midnight from the church-tower 
found me well wrapped up and clinging to Master 
Yates’s arm, making our way across the stack-yard 
and along the edge of the standing corn to the ruined 
cell. We found mine uncle asleep, but a word roused 
him. 

“ Now I can give you three hours for your con- 
verse,” said Master Yates. “ The nights are longer 
than they were, but the stroke of three must be the 
signal for parting. I dare not make it later lest some 
one should be stirring.” 

So saying, he took a rug from the truckle bed, 
and throwing himself on a heap of straw in the outer 
room he soon gave audible tokens of being sound 
asleep. 

“ There lies one of the best men ever made ! ” said 
mine uncle ; “ but for him and his good wife, many a 
man would be but a heap of charred bones and white 
ashes who is now preaching the word.” 

“He said he had word of your coming before- 
hand,” said I ; “ how was that ? ” 

My uncle smiled. “ That I may hardly tell you, 
only I may say as much as this, that they of the new 
religion, as folks call it, have secret intelligence one 
with another, whereby many a precious life hath been 
saved both here and abroad, mine own and that of my 
good son Winter, Katherine’s husband, among the 
number.” 

“ Then Katherine is married ? ” said I. 

“ Oh yes, and well married, though not brilliantly 
as regards this world’s goods. Her husband is pastor 


252 


Loveday's History . 


of the English reformed congregation at Middleburg. 
You must remember him — Arthur Winter, whose 
father lived in the Minories.” 

“But he was a priest ! ” said I. My uncle smiled. 

“ Bead your Bible from beginning to end, child, 
and if you can find one word which makes it unlaw- 
ful for a priest to marry, I give you free leave to call 
my Katherine by the worst name you can think 
of.” 

Somehow these words did seem like a gleam of 
light on a dark night ; but I had no time to dwell on 
them just now. 

“ And Avice — ? ” 

“ Avice is a widow, or so we fear ! ” said he. “ She 
married a good man, a merchant, and rich in this world’s 
goods. His business took him to Madrid a year ago, 
and we have never heard of him since. Avice hopes 
still, and will hope to the end of her days, I think, but 
I fear she will never see her husband again till she 
meets him where the wicked cease from troubling.” 

“And yourself, dear uncle? We heard that you 
had lost much through the treachery of an agent.” 

“ Ay, and came near losing mine own life also, but 
I escaped and got safe to Rotterdam, where the 
family joined me after awhile. I cannot guess how 
it is that Master Davis hath received none of my let- 
ters, save that letters are so very uncertain. I am not 
so rich as when I was in London, yet have I enough 
to make myself and my family comfortable. But 
now tell me of yourself and how you have fared all 
these long years, and why we never heard from you. 
Ah, my child, I have had many a bitter draught pre- 
pared for me by mine own hasty temper, but never a 




The Duke's Ding. 253 

worse than I brewed for myself when I put my 
brother’s orphan child into such hands.” 

“ They were kind hands enough, dear uncle, and, 
save that they kept your letters from me, I have 
naught whereof to blame them,” said I, and with that 
I gave him a short history of my life up to the present 
time. 

“ And you think your master and mistress would 
be willing to have you return with me, if it could be 
contrived ? ” said he. 

“ I am sure of it ! ” I answered. “ His Grace said 
he wished he could send me to you.” 

“ I must have speech of his Grace, and I think I see 
my way there,” said my uncle. “ I have brought 
him a token from a Flemish lord, a friend of his, and 
a small offering on mine own account. I will see him, 
and lay the matter before him. His nobleness is well 
known as a protector of the oppressed children of 
God. I will go back to London to-morrow, and do 
you remain here till you have certain news from us.” 

I told him what his Grace had said about sending 
the ring. 

“ That is well thought of. I w T ill take the best coun- 
sel on the matter, and, meantime, keep you quiet and 
trust that all will yet be well.” 

We talked and talked till the stroke of three from 
the church-tower warned us it was time to part. Mas- 
ter Yates was awakened and we separated. The 
farmer and myself made our way home while the 
first streaks of dawn were reddening the Eastern sky, 
and reached the farmhouse door without meeting any 
body. 

“ How, go you to rest, my young lady, and trust 


254 


Loveday's History. 


my dame to make your excuses,” said the good man. 
“ It is not very healthful for young maids to breathe 
the night air.” 

I went to my room, but not to rest. I had some- 
thing to settle before I could sleep. The bitterest 
drop in my cup had been the feeling that I had been 
guilty of a great and dreadful sin in loving Walter, 
because he was a priest. Such a love, I had been 
taught to think, was a horrible sacrilege. It had been 
a misery to me that, try as I would, I could not feel 
such contrition as I thought my wickedness demanded, 
and I had at times been tempted to think myself aban- 
doned of Heaven for this reason. My uncle’s words con- 
cerning Katherine’s marriage had thrown a gleam of 
light upon the matter. It was like a sun-blink to a trav- 
eler lost among fogs and fens. It seemed to show me for 
one moment the safe path, and I could not rest till I 
made the matter sure. That day I read the New 
Testament straight through from beginning to end, 
and when, at midnight, I laid it down and sought my 
much-needed rest, it was with the comfortable con- 
viction that though my love for Walter was hopeless 
there was no guilt in it — that I might even (though 
with due submission to His will) ask my Heavenly 
Father for His blessing thereon. And then, even 
though we never met in this world again, was there 
not that other home in the Paradise of God ? I do 
not think any one now can estimate the weight which 
that reading took from my heart and conscience. 1 
wondered how I could have been so blinded, having 
before mine eyes the facts — that St. Peter and St. 
James, and other apostles were married, and took their 
wives with them on their apostolic journeys — that 


255 


The Duke’s Ding. 

Paul asserted his right to do the same if he found it 
convenient, and that he permitted, if he did not abso- 
lutely commend, the new bishops of the Church should 
be married men. 

Oh, it is an evil and bitter thing to burden tender 
consciences by making that to be sin which God never 
made so, and they will have much to answer for who 
do it. Neither is it a thing confined to Papists. 
There are people in these days who make as much of 
a young maid’s wearing of a starched ruff, or a farthin- 
gale, or reading a chapter of Master Sidney’s Accadia— 
yea, of keeping of Christmas, or eating of pancakes 
on a Shrove Tuesday — as ever Mother Joanna did of 
not believing in the jaw-bone of St. Lawrence. Mas- 
ter Stubbs his new book, which Philippa sent me 
last week, is a fine example of this kind of sin-mak- 
ing. Marry, she swallows every word of it, and one 
might as well laugh at the Miracle of Cana as at the 
tale of the black cat found in the coffin of the poor 
young lady which was “ Setting of great ruffs and 
frizzing of hair to the great feare and trouble of be- 
lievers.” * 

It was with a much lightened heart that I said my 
prayers, and sought the sleep I so much needed, nor 
did I open my eyes till the sun was high in the 
heavens next morning. 

“ Well, my dear, you have had a good sleep, and I 
am sure you are well rested,” said Dame Yates, as I 
bade her good morning in the dairy, which was to 
her what his study is to a Dutch painter. “ But now, 

* See Phillip Stubbes’ Anatomie of Abuses. This wonderful 
tale is quoted at length in Dr. Drake’s excellent and agreeable 
book, “ Shakespeare and His Times.” 


256 Lov eday's History. 

what will you have to eat, for dinner is long 
done.” 

“ Is it as late as that ? ” I asked in some dismay. 

“ You should not have let me sleep so long.” 

“ Oh it is the best medicine for young things, and 
you have had a trying time” — and then she whispered 
in my ear — “ He you wot of is safe on his way, and 
bids you be ready for a sudden start; so you must eat 
and drink and be strong. I shall bring you a fresh 
egg and a cup of cream directly.” 

And nothing would serve, but she must purvey me 
a dainty meal, though I could as well have waited on 
myself; but she was one of those to whom service was 
ever a pleasure. I ate what she provided, and then, 
seeing the wisdom of mine uncle’s advice, I arranged 
my jewels — of which, thanks to Mrs. Patience, Iliad 
good store — so that I could easily conceal them about 
me, and did up a bundle of necessary clothing, and 
a few books, which I could not make up my mind to 
leave behind me, namely, my Bible, my Latin Imita- 
tion, and the Book of Hours, which dear mother 
prioress had given me at our sorrowful parting. Ah, 
how far away did that parting seem now. The rest 
of my things I left in Dame Yates’s charge, for Dolly’s 
little maiden in case she never heard of me again. 
Thanks to the liberalty of my mistress, I had quite a 
sum of ready money — enough to keep me in comfort 
for some time, even without the need of selling my 
jewels. 

I never passed such a time of suspense as during 
the next four days. I dared not go from home lest 
the messenger might come in my absence; and proba- 
bly that was as well, for an old enemy, even that very 


257 


The Duke’s Ding, 

Betty Wilkins who had been the means of my dis- 
grace about the red flowers, was plotting against me. 
She being abroad the night of the shower, had seen 
me take refuge in the porch of the haunted cell, not 
five minutes, as she alleged, before the screams and 
groans were heard from within ; and she even declar- 
ed that watching and listening, she had heard my voice 
talking with the evil spirit and had seen me afterward 
issue from the ruin, and fly across the fields without 
touching the ground. The dread of witches was as 
rife then as now, though people in general strove to 
conciliate instead of persecuting them. Betty and her 
mother had themselves no good name in this respect, 
and I suppose they were glad to have a story to tell 
of some one else. 

I heard nothing of this matter, however; and it was 
just as well, for I had enough to bear without it. At 
last I bethought me that this anxious care and sus- 
pense was a distrusting of Providence and a direct 
disobedience to His commands who hath forbidden us 
to be anxious about the morrow. I carried my trouble 
to the right place, and asking for grace to submit my- 
self in all things to His Holy will, I strove to set my- 
self with all diligence about my usual occupations; a 
course I have ever found the best under the like cir- 
cumstances. So I heard the children’s lessons — I 
grieved that I had not begun them before — fin- 
ished a muffler I was working for Dame Yates, and 
played over all my music lessons diligently, wishing 
to have them at my fingers’ ends, seeing I did not know 
when I should ever touch an instrument again. 

I was busied thus, one evening between daylight and 
dark. It was now the latter end of August, and the 


258 


Loveclay's History. 


evenings were somewhat chilly. But no one had yet 
thought of lighting afire. Master Yates was dozing in 
his great chair, and his wife and daughter sat together 
on the settee. They were both fond of music, and Dolly 
indeed, w r as herself no mean performer upon the viol.* 
It was growing quite dark, so that I could hardly see the 
keys, and Dame Hannah was talking of lighting the 
lamp, when I heard the hasty tramp of ahorse outside in 
the court. If was nothing strange, for Master Yates’s 
hospitality was well known; and many a traveler stop- 
pea with us for the night, but that oddkind'of prescience 
which hath accompanied me all my life, told me in a 
minute that this was no belated guest. Master Yates 
rose and went to the door, and Dame Hannah hasted 
to strike a light. 

In a moment I heard the former returning,- and, by 
the light of the lamp, I saw behind him a man whose 
figure I seemed dimly to remember. He came straight 
up to me with scarce a passing salutution to the others, 
and held out to me the token I had been expecting, the 
Duke’s own seal-ring. 

“ Must I go ? ” I asked, involuntarily. It did seem 
to me somehow like a supernatural summons ; as if 
a token had been brought me from another world to 
bid me be gone. 

“ You must, and instantly! ” answered the messenger 
in a half whisper. “ Time passes, and must not be 
spent in delay.” 

I flew to my chamber, and was quickly arrayed in 
such a riding dress as country dames are wont to wear 

*Tlie English were the most musical people in Europe in those 
days, and a man was hardly accounted educated who could 
not sing at sight. 


The DuJce's Bing . 


250 


to church and market, and which, with Dame Hannah’s 
help, I had prepared for this very occasion. It could 
not have been ten minutes that I was absent, yet when 
I returned I found my conductor seemingly chafing 
at even that short delay. 

“ It is well ! ” said he, and histone was to me as great 
a puzzle as his figure and bearing. His face I could not 
see, as he kept on his beaver, and his cloak was wrap- 
ped about his chin. “ Have you no more to carry 
than this ? ” 

“ No more ! ” I answered. 

“ Come, then, let us begone.” 

“ Oh, Mistress Loveday, dare you trust yourself to 
him ? ” asked Dolly, in a terrified whisper. “ Are you 
not scared ? What if it should be the evil one him- 
self ?” 

The stranger overheard her and laughed — a very 
short laugh. 

“ Have no fears, good woman. I am a Christian 
like yourself, and your friend is safe with me. Bid 
farewell in few words, mistress. It is time we were 
away. “ I kissed the weeping women, and shook 
Master Gates his hand. The stranger had a powerful 
black horse with a pillion for mine accommodation. 
He raised me in his arms and set me in my place, 
sprung to the saddle before me, and bidding me hold 
fast by his belt, he struck his spurs intg his horse’s 
side, and off we went. 



CHAPTER XXL 

THE OLD HALL. 

O here was I, being carried off at a breakneck 
speed through the dim moonlight of the 
August night, like a damsel in Romance whom 
some enchanter has trussed up and borne away on a hip- 
pogriff. My conductor spake never a word, and I was 
too busy keeping my seat to have any breath to spare 
for questions, had I dared to ask them. I was sure 
my companion was some one I had seen, but where 
and when I could not say. He had the Duke’s ring, 
which none but a trusted servant could have gotten 
into his hands, and at all events I could do nothing 
but abide the result of mine adventure. 

At last, after we had ridden more than an hour at 
this headlong pace, and I was far from any place I 
had ever seen before, my guide slackened his pace, 
and turning toward me, asked how I fared. 

“ Why, w^ll enough, an’ I had but a little breathing 
time,” said I ; “ but, sir, may I ask your name ? ” 

“ So you do not know me ? ” said he, “ and yet we 
are not strangers. See what it is to trust the memory 
of a young lady.” 

A wild notion crossed my mind — too wild, I thought, 
to be entertained for a single moment. 




The Old Halt 


*26i 


“At least,” said I, “you will perhaps have the 
goodness to tell me whither you are conveying me at 
such a rate.” 

“ To a place of safety, I hope,” he answered. 
“Have no fears. Did not the Duke himself bid you 
trust the messenger who brought his ring ? But now 
we are to pass a village, and you must be silent. 
Wrap your cloak well about you, for the air is chill.” 

I obeyed, and we rode on through a village where 
every one seemed to be abed and asleep, save at the 
vicarage near the church, where there were lights, and 
from which proceeded a savory smell of cooking, and 
the chorus of a song, which was certainly not one of the 
canticles of the church. 

“ The knaves are cooking venison ! ” muttered my 
conductor. “ This gear must be looked to. It were 
as good a deed as eating to give them a fright.” 

He rode close to the window as he spoke, and, 
striking thereon with his riding whip, he called with 
a sepulchral, hollow tone : “ Who is the profane, 

drunken priest who steals the Duke’s deer?” Then 
putting spurs to his horse, he galloped on, but look- 
ing back, I saw the poor, fat vicar gazing after us, 
his very cassock seeming to bristle with alarm. 

My conductor said never a word, only laughed softly 
to himself. We now entered a deep wood, where the 
path was none of the best, and where the tired horse 
made more than one stumble. Muttering that this 
would not do, his master bade me hold fast to the 
saddle,, and, jumping off, he led the animal by the 
bridle. We went on in this way for half an hour, 
when we came out into a small cleared space, or lawn, 
and I saw before me a very old timbered house, of 


$6$ Loveclay's History. 

dignity enough to he called a hall. It was growinglight 
by this time — just that dazzling, bewildering mingling 
of dawn and moonlight which makes even accustomed 
objects look strange and unreal. I could see a 
cluster of chimneys, from one of which smoke was 
issuing. A light shone out through panes of colored 
glass, and a moment after showed by its clearer and 
broader beam that a door was opened. 

“ They are up, and expecting us, you see,” said my 
conductor, and again that wild fancy crossed my 
mind. As we drew near to the steps which led up to 
the hall-door, a figure appeared upon them, and in 
another minute I was elapsed in my uncle’s arms and 
led by him into the hall, where a fire on the hearth 
gave out a warmth and light which seemed almost 
miraculous. 

“ I have brought her safely, you see, good Master 
Corbet ! ” said a gay voice. “ Give me credit for 
being a faithful messenger.” 

I looked around in utter amazement, as my first idea 
returned to my mind. There stood the Duke himself, 
smiling in his old genial fashion at my surprise. 

“It can never be ! ” I exclaimed. 

“And why not? You are a reader of romances, 
Mistress Loveday. Tell me, is it not the duty of a 
true knight to save distressed damsels from the power 
of wicked enchanters ? ” 

“Your Grace is another King Arthur,” said mine 
uncle. 

“ I would I were, and had Merlin at my command,” 
said the Duke. “ I would soon rid this land of some 
its dragons.” 

“ How can I ever repay your Grace what you have 


The Old Hall . 


263 


done for me and this poor child ? ” said mine uncle, 
bending his knee as he kissed the hand the Duke held 
out to him. 

“ Tut, old man. I love an adventure old as I am, 
as well as when I was a wild lad of twenty, and be- 
side, to say truth, I had no one near me to whom I 
cared to trust this gear. But where is Dame Joan ? ” 

4 ° 

At these words, an exquisitely neat elderly woman 
came forward into the light. She was dressed like 
any country dame, but still there was about her an 
indescribable air of refinement. 

“ I bring you a weary damsel, my good cousin,” 
said the Duke, addressing her with marked courtesy. 
“ Do you have her to bed, and when we are all rested 
we will talk over our plans.” 

The old lady, for such she clearly was, courtesied, 
and then taking my hand she led me through a gal- 
lery and up a stair to a chamber where all was neat 
and comfortable, though every thing in the room 
seemed as old as the Wars of the Roses at least. 

“ Here you may rest safely,” said she. “ No one 
ever comes to this house, save now and then a mes- 
senger from my good master and yours. I guess 
from all I see that you are a sufferer for the faith ! ” 

“ Indeed, madam, I hardly know myself,” I an- 
swered. “ I have suffered nothing worthy of the 
name as yet, but I trust I should have grace to endure 
should such trouble come upon me.” 

“ Well, you are young, but the cross comes to all, 
young as well as old. There, sweetheart, get thee to 
bed, and rest well.” 

She kissed my forehead and left me. Oh, how de- 
lightful was that clean, well-lavendered linen, albeit 


264 


Loveday's History. 


my bed was somewhat harder than I had been used 
to. But young bones do not mind such trifles, and I 
was soon asleep, and did not stir till toward ten 
o’clock. I sprang up and dressed myself as soon as I 
was fairly awake, and hurried down stairs to find 
mine uncle thoughtfully pacing up and down the hall. 

“ Where is his Grace ? ” I inquired, so soon as I had 
asked and received his blessing. 

“ Up and away three hours ago ! ” was the answer. 
“He did but tarry till his horse was fed and refreshed, 
and then took his way to a hunting lodge he hath in 
these parts. He saith his people are well used to his 
freaks, so no one will wonder to see him.” 

“Yes, he often rides alone,” I answered. “I 
would he did not, for his life is too precious to be 
risked. And what are we to do now, uncle ” 

“Why, nothing just at present, except what the 
partridge does when the hawk is abroad — keep close 
and wait. His Grace assures me we are safe in this 
place, which, indeed, is lonely enough, if that were all, 
and bids us remain here till the heat of the pursuit is 
passed, after which he will purvey means for us to go 
abroad.” 

“ Then there is pursuit ? ” 

“ Ay, hot enough just now, but I fancy it will 
soon cool. The king is busy about his new marriage, 
and he seems, with all reverence, not to be in the 
same mind for two days together.” 

“ And how are our friends the Davis family ? ” 

“ Well, so far, save from suspense and anxiety. 
They hear nothing of Margaret and her husband, and 
Andrew hath been gone longer than usual.” 

“ And did you see my dear mistress ? ” 


The Old Hall. 


2G5 


“ Yes, and her daughter. I wonder not at your re- 
gard for them. They are two most lovely ladies.” 

“ But how did you gain audience ? ” 

“ Oh, as I told you, I had some pictures to sell, and 
certain East country trinkets of gold and ivory, such 
as the Dutch merchants now bring from China and 
the Indies. I had also a token for the Duke from a 
friend abroad which I had promised to deliver, and 
which gained me a private interview. All the rest 
was easy. But tell me, had you any notion of your 
conductor ? ” 

I told him the fancy had crossed my mind, but I 
had dismissed it as too wild to be entertained. 

“ He seems to have thought of the adventure as a 
mere frolic,” said mine uncle. “ I do not think the idea 
of any personal risk ever crossed his mind.” 

“ If it had, it would have made no difference,” said 
I. “ Men who know him well, say he is an utter 
stranger to fear. I would he were not, for he adven- 
tures his life needlessly in hunting and hawking, and 
he ought to be careful, if only for his family’s sake.” 

The old lady I had seen the night before, now en- 
tered the room followed by a woman bearing a cloth 
and trenchers, who proceeded to set the board. I 
spoke to her, but she only shook her head. 

“She is deaf as an adder ! ” said Mrs. Joan, “but 
she is a good creature, and having dwelt together so 
dong, we understand each other very well. I some- 
times marvel what will become of the other when 
one of us is taken away ; but that is no business of 
mine.” 

By this time the servant, whom Dame Joan called 
Martha, had a goodly dish of young pigeons and 


266 Loveday's History . 

bacon smoking upon the board, with sweet brown 
bread and whatever else was needed, and we sat down 
to dinner, while old Martha waited on us with won- 
derful deftness considering her infirmity. After the 
meal was over, my uncle betook himself to walking 
up and down the garden path, for there was a small 
garden behind the house where grew many neatly 
tended beds for potage and physic, and not a few 
hardy flowers. I, who had had enough of exercise 
the night before to last me for some time, sought my 
room to look for my knitting, which I had brought 
away with me. I found Mrs. Joan arranging my 
bed, which I would by no means suffer, but took the 
matter out of her hands. I did never like to be 
waited upon by an old person. She smiled and acqui- 
esced. 

“ It is long since I have seen a young face ! ” said 
she, sighing, methought, as she spoke. “ If my own 
Loveday had lived, I believe she would have been 
like you. But the dear babe hath long been in a bet- 
ter place.” 

“ I often think there is, if not a bright, yet a peace- 
ful side to the death of little children,” I ventured 
to say. “ One feels so safe about them. The most 
promising child who lives to grow up may change for 
the worse. But once in the Saviour’s arms, there is 
no room for sin or falling. All is well forevermore.” 

“ That is true, but yet the mother’s arms are not less 
sadly empty, and none but God knows the hunger of 
her heart ! ” said she sighing. “ But now tell me of 
your life at Dartford. Were you happy there after 
you were professed ? ” 

“ I was never professed,” said I, rather surprised, 


The Old Hall. 


26 Y 


for I could not remember speaking of the place. “ By 
Sir Edward’s will my dowry was forfeit if I took the 
veil before I was twenty-one at the least, and I lacked 
some years of that when the convent was broken up. 
I dare say I should have been professed at last, for I 
had learned to look upon the house as home, and was 
well enough content on the whole, though I do not 
think I had any special vocation. But were you ever 
at Dartford, madam ? ” 

“ Yes, once in my young days,” she answered, 
stooping to pick up a needle. 

“ I suppose that was long before my time,” said I. 

“ Oh, yes, of coarse. Am I not old enough to be 
your mother, child ? ” 

I thought my grandmother would have been nearer 
the mark, but, after all, I was not so sure. Mrs. Joan’s 
face was pale and wrinkled, and her hair was snowy 
white, but her movements were quick and decided, 
and her step firm. Only her voice was tremulous and 
her head had an odd shake — not trembling all the 
time, but now and then moving slowly from side to 
side, as though in stern protest against some evil she 
could not help. 

At all events she was pleasant company. I taught 
her to knit, and she showed me some wonderful de- 
vices in embroidery and netting. We sometimes 
walked together in the wood round the house. I often 
read to her, for her eyes were beginning to fail, and 
told her tales of my life at Dartford, to which she 
seemed to listen with interest, though she seldom 
made any remark. I think my uncle chafed far more 
than I did at our enforced retreat. As I have said be- 
fore, he had a choleric temper, though age and stern 


268 Ijoveday's History . 

self-discipline had done much to tame it. But he 
longed to be once more among men and at his busi- 
ness. I do not mean to say that he gave way to im- 
patience or fretfulness, but the suspense and delay 
were very hard on him, and I could not help telling 
him one day how much better off he would be if he 
could only knit. 

“ That is true,” said he seriously. “ If only I had 
something to do. I suppose there are no books in 
the house.” 

“ I will ask Mistress Joan,” said I ; which accordingly 
I did, and was conducted to a little room on the second 
floor, which I had never entered. Mistress Joan un- 
locked the door, and showed me a small apartment in 
which were several cases of books — dusty, indeed, 
but in fair preservation. 

“I have been meaning to show you this room ever 
since you came here, and now is as good a time as any. 
There is a secret here which may concern you.” So 
saying she gave a push to one of the presses which 
seemed fast to the wall. It slipped aside the width 
of a foot and showed a dark space behind it. 

“ There is a staircase in there which leads down to 
the very foundations of the house,” said she. “ By 
it you may at any time reach a place of concealment 
which will defy all your enemies to find you.” 

She showed me how to open and close the spring 
door, and then making all secure, she bade me keep 
the key till I went away, and take what books I could. 
I found a Latin Livy in very fair print, and some other 
volumes, which I carried to my uncle after I had de- 
posited the key in a secure place. I found him read- 
ing a letter which a messenger had just brought. The 


The Old Hall. 


269 


man was waiting in the hall, and I recognized in hirn 
one of his Grace of Suffolk’s most trusted servants. 

“News, my child,” said my uncle. “This very 
night we are to make for a small seaport” — which he 
named but I have forgotten — “ where a vessel will be 
awaiting to carry us to Holland. Put up what things 
are absolutely needful in the smallest compass that 
you may be ready at any moment.” 

This was news, indeed. I forgot all about my books 
and every thing else, but the prospect of seeing my 
aunt and cousins once more. I flew, to my room and 
soon had all my preparations made. I was just finish- 
ing my bundles when Mistress Joan entered. 

“ So I am to lose you, dear child,” said she, sadly, 
but in that inexpressible tone of resignation which 
shows that sorrow has become a part of one’s very 
nature. “Oh, well. It will not be long, and lam 
glad to have seen you again, though you have never 
known me all these days that we have been to- 
gether.” 

“ Dear mother, how could I know you ? ” I asked in 
amazement. “ I never saw you before.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” she asked, looking at me with a 
smile. I stared at her, and somehow the old face did 
seem to drop like a mask, and I saw behind it the face 
of Sister Denys — of Sister Denys who had gone to 
Dartford in my company, and had disappeared so sud- 
denly and strangely.” 

“ It is even so, child,” said she, as I called her by 
name, throwing my arms around her neck. “ Oh, 
Loveday, you can never know how I have longed to 
speak to you when I have had a glimpse of you from 
the high grated window of my cell.” 


m 


Lovedai/s History . 


“ But where — but how ?” I asked, too all amazed to 
ask a reasonable question. 

“ Sit down awhile and I will tell you my story,” 
said she. We did sit on the side of the bed, and with 
her arms still about me, she gave me the outline of 
her tale — as strange and sad as ever I heard. She 
had been betrothed to a far-away kinsman, with the 
full consent of her father. Her mother had died when 
she was young. But some family quarrel arising, she 
was forbid ever to see or speak with her lover more, 
and commanded to marry another person. This last 
she flatly refused to do, and persisting in her refusal, 
she was placed in the convent at Dartford. She would 
not take the veil, however, till she was sent a note as 
from her lover, saying that he was married. Then she 
gave way. 

“ But it was a wicked falsehood whoever penned 
it,” said Denys. “ Loveday, do you remember the 
lame gardener ? ” 

“ Yes, very well. Why?” 

The rest was soon told. Denys’s bridegroom had 
found her out at last, and carried her off to some lonely 
house, she did not rightly know where, first marrying 
her before a village priest. Here they lived for a few 
— a very few — happy weeks, meaning as soon as the 
heat of pursuit was over to go abroad. But alas, 
one day the poor man ventured forth too far, was 
seen, tracked, and their concealment found out. The 
poor young man was killed before his wife’s eyes, and 
Denys was carried back to her convent. 

“I expected nothing but the walled up cell, and 
the ‘ part in peace,’ ” continued Denys, “ but I did not 
care ; I knew it would be soon over at the worst. But 


The Old Hall . 


271 


it was not to be. Loveday, do you remember a range 
of rooms which opened back from the Mother 
Superior’s room — perhaps you never saw them.” 

“Never till the day I left the house.” 

“ In one of those rooms I found myself when I re- 
covered my senses, and there I lived for ten years, 
never seeing a face till my babe was born — my little 
Loveday. They were kind to me then, and my child 
lived and seemed like to thrive. But when she was a 
month old, she drooped and died all in one day like a 
broken flower. It was as well. Thank Heaven I can 
now say so. They had given her some of their saints’ 
names, but I called her Loveday after you, child, for 
I always loved you. She was a sweet little thing, 
the picture of her father. Oh how empty were my 
arms and heart for many a long day ! ” 

I was weeping too much to speak as that poor 
mother bent her head and kissed me. 

“ I know not how the time passed after that for a 
long while. I took no note of it, but at last one 
morning I waked from a blessed dream of my hus- 
band and child in Paradise, and, looking up at the 
high grated lattice, I saw the sun shining. I had a 
joint stool and table, and with their help I climbed up 
and looked upon the world once more. The sisters 
were walking in the orchard, and I could see the very 
tree where Harry made himself known to me. The 
fountains of the deep were broken up then, which had 
been fast sealed in all my trouble. I had not shed a 
tear before, but now they came in a flood, and with 
them some of the bitterness of my grief seemed to 
pass away, and the cloud lifted from my mind so I 
could understand and remember. When the mother 


m 


Loveday's History . 


came with my meals I made bold to ask her for some 
work. She seemed pleased — she was always kind in 
her ways, though she rarely spoke to me — and from 
that day I had plenty to do. 

44 One day Mother Joanna brought me a heavier 
basket than usual, and came into the cell instead of 
passing it through the tour. I rose as she entered, 
but slie bade me sit down again. 

44 4 Denys ! ’ said she, after a little silence, 4 do you 
know what is the usual fate of a nun who breaks her 
convent vows ? ’ 

“I bowed, thinking with a kind of dull horror of all 
I had heard of such things. 

44 4 Yours would have been either the closed vault or 
a lifelong confinement in darkness. We have been 
lenient to you — perhaps more so than we had any 
right to be — and now,’ she paused. 

44 4 Am I to be set at liberty ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘Nay, I said not so.’ 

“ An hour before I should have said I did not care 
enough for life to escape if the door was left open, 
but now a wild, overmastering desire for liberty took 
possession of me. X threw myself at the mother’s feet 
and begged her to let me go, were it to beg my bread 
or serve as household drudge in the meanest farm- 
house. 

44 4 Hush, hush ! ’ said she. 4 You will spoil all by 
this vehemence. You must do exactly as you are bid 
and all will be well, at last. Dress yourself in the 
clothes you will find in this basket, and be ready when 
the bell rings for the midnight service.’ 

44 4 Where am I to go ?’ I ventured to ask. 

44 4 To a safe asylum which has been found for you, 


The Old Hall. 


273 


and where you may spend the rest of your days in 
penitence and prayer.’ 

44 I thought I knew what that meant well enough, hut 
I did not care. At midnight I was taken from my 
prison blindfolded, and carried down stairs and into 
the fresh air. I was placed in a litter and traveled 
for two days, I think, stopping now and then in some 
secluded place for a little rest and refreshment. On 
the third day there was an unexpected end put to my 
journey. We were attacked by outlaws. My two 
conductors fled, as I guessed, without exchanging 
many blows. With many jests, but not unkindly, the 
robbers drew me out of my litter. I was so stiff with 
sitting I could hardly stand upright. 

“ 4 Why, ’tis a poot feeble old woman ! ’ said the 
leader of the gang. ‘Hey, what! Cannot you 
walk ? ’ he asked, as I tried to take a step. 

“ 4 My feet are tied ! ’ 1 managed to say, and so they • 
had been, whether by command to my attendants or 
to save themselves trouble, I do not know. 

“ 4 And so they are,’ said another man, with indig- 
nation. ‘ The brutes, to use an old white-headed 
woman like that. Where were they taking you, good 
mother ? ’ 

44 4 1 do not know,’ I answered. £ They said to a 
safe asylum — to some cell or convent, I suppose — 
but I promised not to tell,’ I added. c Please do not 
heed my words, I am something dazed.’ 

44 The men glanced at each other and whispered to- 
gether. Then the man who seemed to be the leader 
asked me where I wished to go. 

44 4 1 know not,’ I answered. ‘ I have not a friend 
on earth.’ 


274 


Loveday's History . 


“ ‘ ’Tis a piteous case,’ said the outlaw. Then, after 
a little more conference, two of the men took me be- 
tween them and led me into the thicket, where I was 
made to sit down and eat. At night, the man in 
charge of me made me a kind of bed of leaves, and 
bade me lie down and sleep without fear. 

“ Curiously enough, I was not at all afraid, and did 
as I was bid as calmly as if I had been in the convent. 
In the first gray of the morning, I was again blind- 
folded and led for some distance without a word being 
said on either side. Finally I was bade to sit down. 

“‘ You must remain here without uncovering your 
eyes till you hear the church clock strike five,’ said 
my conductor. ‘You will find yourself not far from 
a house, where they will, no doubt, feed and shelter 
you. Obey and no harm will befall you, if you keep 
your own counsel.’ 

“ ‘ I would I had something wherewith to reward 
your kindness,’ said I. 

“ ‘Nay, we want no reward from such as you,’ an- 
swered the man. ‘You are not our game. Fare- 
well, good mother, and good luck to you.’ 

“ I heard the outlaws’ retreating steps, and then all 
was still, save for the singing of the birds and the 
other woodland noises. I waited patiently till I heard 
a distant clock strike five. Then I unbound my eyes 
and looked about me. 

“I found myself in a thick wood like a neglected 
park. There was a narrow vista through the trees, 
at the end of which I saw an old building from one 
chimney of which smoke was rising, showing that it 
was inhabited, and thither I bent my way. I found 
nobody but one old woman — poor Martha — and as 


The Old Hall. 


275 


she was not so deaf as she is now, I made her under- 
stand so much as I thought fit to tell her . namely, 
that I had been traveling, had lost my way, and been 
out all night, and I prayed her to give me hospitality. 

“‘Ay, ay !’ said she, ‘meat and drink you shall 
have, and as to lodging, we will see what my master 
says. He is here now, my good dame ? ’ 

“ ‘ Who is your master ? ’ I ventured to ask. 

“ ‘ Why, his Grace of Suffolk, no less,’ was the an- 
swer. ‘ This tumble down old house belongs to him, 
and it pleases him to come hither now and then for a 
day’s sport.’ 

« I had gathered my wits together by the time I had 
rested and eaten my breakfast, and I made up my 
mind what to do. I knew my husband had been a 
far-away kinsman of the Brandons, and I determined 
to tell his Grace the whole story, and to throw myself 
on his mercy. I did so. He heard me with many 
expressions of pity and kindness. 

« ‘ Your husband was a gallant young man,’ said he. 

‘ I knew him well, but knew not what had become of 
him. I will consider your case and see what shall be 
best for you.’ 

“The next day as he was going away, he called 
me. 

“ ‘ I can think of no better counsel than for you to 
remain here and keep close,’ said he. ‘ Nobody ever 
comes hither but myself or some trusted servant. 
This old hall hath sheltered the wanderer before now. 
Bide you here, then, and go not forth — not even to 
church at present. Your own family doubtless think 
you dead, and the convent authorities are too full of 
their own troubles just now to make much search for 


276 


Loveday's History. 


you, but yet it is best to be on the safe side. How it 
comes that you are alive, I cannot guess.’ 

“ ‘ They were not unkind to me beyond keeping me 
confined,’ said I. ‘ I pray, your Grace, what year is 
this?’ 

He told me. 

“ ‘ Then I have been in prison nine years,’ I said, 
‘ and in that time I have not seen a human face more 
than three times, save when I was ill.’ 

“ ‘ Poor thing, no wonder you are so sadly aged,’ he 
said, ‘but there will be an end of all that soon, and 
full time it was so.’ ” 

“ How long is it since you came here ? ” I asked, as 
she paused. 

“ Two years come next spring.” 

“ Then you must have been sent away just before 
the convent was broken up.” 

“ ’Tis likely they found it convenient to get rid of 
me,” she returned, a little bitterly. “ But I bear them 
no malice. I have been pardoned too much myself 
not to forgive others. I had not said even the form 
of a prayer for years before I came here. I had lost 
all faith in the old religion, and I knew no other. 
But one day looking for something wherewith to 
divert myself, I found a Latin Bible. I read and 
read, and by degrees the light came to me, and the 
truth made me free.” 

“ And what then, dear sister ? ” 

“ There is little more to tell,” she answered. “His 
Grace was good enough to call me cousin before 
Martha, and bade her treat me with all respect. She 
is a good, faithful creature, and I love her as a sister. 
She grows infirm, and I fear may not last long. But 


The Old Hall 


m 


I am old, too,” she added, with a smile. “Loveday, 
the first time I looked into a mirror, I started 
back in affright. I did not know my own face.” 

I would have liked to ask her a hundred questions, 
but there was no more time. It was drawing to- 
ward sunset, and I had been told to be ready by 
nightfall. Denys helped me to finish my packing and 
to arrange securely the money and jewels I had about 
me, and I was soon all ready. As soon as it was 
dark, the same messenger who had brought the 
litter, appeared with two horses, and we took a last 
farewell of our woodland Patmos. Denys kissed and 
blessed me at parting. 

“We shall never meet again, but I am most thank- 
ful to have seen your face once more,” said she. “ You 
were my first comforter, little Loveday, and if my 
prayers can call down blessings you will not want 
them. Farewell, dear, precious child, till we meet in 
the Paradise above.” 

I had to go at last. As we rode down the over- 
grown avenue I looked backed and saw , her standing 
in the door. She waved her hand, and then the trees 
closed in, and I never saw her again. 

I heard afterward that she died, after all, before poor 
old Martha. But she was ready to go, and it was a 
blessed release. How little I guessed, when I used to 
look at our house at Dartford and speculate as to the 
rooms I was not allowed to enter, that my old 
friend and teacher was pining away her young life in 
one of them. They meant it for mercy, and I dare 
say ran a great risk in keeping her where they did, 
but it was a doubtful mercy, after all. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

" EXILED, AND YET AT HOME,” 

E rode all that night and in the morning we 
found ourselves in a small seaport town, or 
rather fishing village, for it was little more. 
There was hut scant time for me to observe it. There 
was a low-lying fog, and we could not even see the 
edge of the water in the dull twilight. A breeze 
sprung up with the sun, however, the fog lifted like a 
curtain, and showed a tolerably-sized vessel lying off 
shore. 

“ There she is, thank Heaven ! ” said our conductor, 
“ but we must waste no time. It will not do to lose 
this breeze.” 

We rode straight to the water’s edge, where our 
conductor made a signal. A boat put off from the 
ship, and in a few minutes we found ourselves on 
board. 

What a strange, desolate thing it seemed to watch 
the shore of England fading away, and think that in 
all likelihood I should never see it again. In truth, we 
came near to never seeing any shore again, for the 
breeze increased to a gale, and for some time we were 
in a good deal of danger. But our ship was stout, 
and the Dutch are bold and skillful sailors, and so it 



“Exiled, and yet at Home .” 


279 


came to pass that on the fifth morning after leaving 
England I opened my eyes, and, looking at the tiny 
window, I caught sight of a low-lying bit of green. I 
was not many minutes in arranging my dress and 
joining my uncle on deck. What a strange scene it 
was ! We were sailing on what seemed a great inland 
lake, shifting our course every five minutes. All 
about, now near at hand, now on the far horizon, 
were long lines of high green banks, over which 
peeped, now and then, the top of a tree, or a fantas- 
tical church steeple, with a fish-shaped weather-vane. 
The sky was clear, and a fresh, pleasant breeze was 
blowing ; but the water was still rough from last 
night’s storm, and seemed, even to my inexperienced 
eye, to be full of currents and eddies. It was the 
oddest landscape, if landscape it could be called, that I 
had ever seen, and seemed as if it might have come 
up from Neptune’s kingdom, like a whale, to have a 
breath of fresh air and a look at the world, and might 
be expected to dive again at any moment. And, in- 
deed, it hath a trick of diving at times with unrever- 
ent suddenness. More than once while I lived there 
we heard of a whole town or district disappearing in 
the night, leaving no trace to show where it had been. 

“ What is this, uncle ?” I asked. 

“ This is Holland, my niece — Holland, our asylum, 
and that of many another wanderer. These are the 
Isles of Zealand, and we shall soon be at home.” 

My uncle spoke in a tone of enthusiasm which I 
could not understand. 

“ And what are these great green banks which we 
see on every side ? Are they ramparts ? ” 

“ Ay, child, ramparts against the Dutchman’s 


280 


Loveday's History . 


greatest foe and Lest friend, the sea. But for them 
all yonder fertile fields would be under water, or at 
least but stagnant morasses, the haunts of wild fowl.” 

“The enemy seems to have had the best of it 
yonder ! ” said I, pointing to a place where innumer- 
able active little figures were running to and fro, like 
ants in a disturbed ant-hill. 

“Yes, I doubt we shall hear of mischief,” said the 
captain, who could speak English very well. “ Such 
a gale as we have had makes wild work with the 
dykes, though ’twas not as bad as though it had 
blown from another quarter.” 

“ But who has built all these great arks ? ” I ven- 
tured to ask, looking with amazement at the high 
banks and heavy stone-work, which I could now see 
quite plainly. 

“ The Hollanders and Zealanders themselves, young 
lady ! ” Answered the captain, with justifiable pride. 
“ For three hundred years and more, we have 
been conquering this country from the sea. Some time 
or other we may have to conquer it again from 
another power, who knows ? ” 

Who knew, indeed ! Only, a few weeks ago I heard 
that in their contest for liberty with the cruel Span- 
iards the Hollanders had cut these same dykes, and let 
in the salt sea on their grand farms and beautiful 
towns. Any one who has ever lived in Holland will 
understand what must have been their zeal for liberty 
to make them willing to let so much dirt into their 
houses. I hope with all my heart they may succeed, 
for if any people on earth have the right to their own 
country it is the Dutch . 

“ When shall we be at Rotterdam ? ” asked my uncle. 


te Mailed, and yet at Home* 


281 


“ Why, that is more than I can tell,” was the an- 
swer, “but if all goes well, I hope we shall find our- 
selves at the Boorntzees’ to-morrow morning. You 
know, my friend, this is not a channel to be walked 
over blindfold.” 

I could not help seeing that for myself as I observed 
how carefully our good captain watched the course 
of the vessel and how often he heaved the lead. I un- 
derstood that the gale by disturbing the shifting sand 
and sandbanks had made the navigation more trouble- 
some than usual. In fact, we were aground once, but 
our commander’s seamanship and the rising tide soon 
took us off. At every possible interval, the men were 
busy cleaning and scraping, varnishing and painting, 
so that the ship began to assume quite a holiday ap- 
pearance. 

I went to bed at last, but not to sleep, except by fits 
and snatches, awakened every moment bythe welcome 
sounds of cocks crowing, cattle lowing, and the lovely 
music of church bells playing tunes before they struck 
the hour. At last weariness conquered and I fell into 
a deep sleep, from which I was waked by my uncle’s 
voice. 

“ Come, my maid. Here we are at home. Hasten 
your preparations that we may go ashore.” 

It did not seem much like home to me as I followed 
my uncle along the quay, having a line of ships on one 
side and a row of fine painted warehouses, and dwell- 
ings on the other. I felt more like somebody in a fan- 
tastic dream. Here was a warehouse where great 
foreign looking bales were being carried in, while 
in the window stood pots of flowers behind the 
clear glass. There, we met a group of what were evi- 


282 


Zoveday's History . 


dently country women, who yet wore bands and head- 
dresses of gold and silver, with great gold earrings 
dangling over their cheeks and bosoms. And 
again, two maid servants in the same odd attire were 
cleaning the outside of a house, yea, scrubbing the 
very bricks, with as much zeal and apparent pleasure 
as my Lady Frances would have shown at her music. 
And then the language! I could not understand it, 
and yet it sounded as if I ought to know every word. 
Presently we turned off the quay, tlieBoomtzeesasthey 
call it, and went through two or three narrow streets, 
and over more bridges than I ever counted afterward. 
At last we came into a kind of little place or square 
where grass was growing, and flowers blooming in 
little parterres like the figures in a Persian rug. 
This square was surrounded by neat houses, as fan- 
tastically decorated as those we had seen before, and 
looking as if no dust or smoke had ever dared to 
come near them. At the largest and handsomest of 
these my uncle stopped. 

“ This is our house, ” said he. “Pray God we find 
all well.” He knocked as he spoke, but had hardly 
withdrawn his hand from the knocker, when a light 
foot was heard on the stairs, and Avice, looking not 
at all like a heart-broken widow, threw herself into 
her father’s arms, and drew him into the house. I 
followed, feeling somehow inexpressibly forlorn and 
lonely.. 

“Why how is this ?” asked my uncle, holding Avice 
off and looking at her. “ Methinks my drooping 
flower is blooming again.” 

“ Ay, and with good reason,” answered Avice. “Af- 
ter all our fears, Garrett has come home safe and sound, 


283 


“Exiled, and yet at Home” 

and not much the worse for his captivity among the 
Moors.” 

“ Heaven be praised! But, daughter, you do not 
speak to your guest. Do you not know her ? ” 

Avice turned — I verily believe she had taken no note 
of me before — and looked at me for a moment with a 
gaze so like one of her old innocent looks of wonder, 
that I could not forbear smiling. 

“ Loveday, it is Loveday ! ” she exclaimed, and I 
had no cause to find fault with my welcome. I was 
led up stairs all in a moment, and into a parlor where 
sat my Aunt Holland, looking not so much older than 
when I saw her last. What a meeting it was. How 
we women talked and laughed and cried, and asked 
endless questions and staid for no answers. How old 
Sambo, his wool whiter than any sheep’s, kissed my 
hand and blubbered and giggled, all in a breath, and 
afterward danced a dance of triumph out in the court- 
yard. By and by Avice would lead me to my room 
to refresh myself with a change of dress before eat- 
ing. 

I declare, when I was left alone in the room, I was 
afraid to stir. I thought we had been neat at the 
convent, but our utmost cleanness was sluttery com- 
pared to that which reigned here. The glass win- 
dows, which were seen every where in Holland long 
before they were common in gentlemen’s houses in 
England, were clear as air, and the laced curtains 
which veiled the lower parts whiter than any snow. 
Beautiful pots of Delft ware, holding growing and 
blossoming plants, stood in the window-seat, and 
the very floor was of rare wood waxed and polished 
like a mirror, so as to make walking somewhat perilous 


284 


Loveday's History . 


to the unaccustomed foot. The bed was all in white 
and pale blue, and there was not so much as a speck 
of dust to be seen any where. Avice left the room, 
and presently came back with an armful of clean linen 
and a gown. She would help me to dress, but that I 
would not allow, so bidding me come down when I 
was ready, she left me. I dressed myself at last, and 
went back to the room I had left, where I found a 
table spread with all sorts of good things, while a tall, 
handsome, solemn-looking maid servant, wearing the 
same sort of head ornament I had seen in the street, 
kept bringing still more. Here I was introduced to 
my cousin’s husband, a stately gentleman, but looking 
worn and sunburned. I had found my appetite by 
this time, and did full justice to the dainties before 
me. 

“ And Katherine is well ?” asked my uncle. 

“ Yes, very well ; and her new babe. The little 
lad hath had the ague, but is recovered — so she 
writes.” 

“ Ay, they are like to have a fine wreath of olive 
branches,” said Mynheer Van Alstine, with something 
of a sigh. “ Methinks they might spare us one.” 

“ All in good time,” returned my aunt. Then to 
me : “ So you have never married, sweetheart ? ” 

“No, dear aunt;” I answered, feeling my cheeks 
grow red. 

“We must find her a husband somewhere,” said 
Mynheer Van Alstine. “It will never do to leave so 
fine a maid to comb St. Catherine’s hair, as they say 
in France.” 

“ Ail in good time,” repeated my uncle, smiling. 
“Loveday is not so old or so foul-favored but slit can 


tc Mciled, and yet at Home? 385 

afford to wait a while to comfort her poor old uncle. 
What, sweetheart — wilt thou live single for my sake, 
since my own girls have been carried away captive 
by these piratical Dutchmen ? ” 

“ I desire no better fate,” said I. Whereat he 
laughed, and addressing himself to his son-in-law, he 
began to ask about his captivity among the Barbary 
Moors. 

“ So they were not unkind to you ? ” 

“ Nay, they treated me well enough so soon as 
they found out I was no Spaniard,” answered the 
gentleman. “ They hate the Spaniards, and with 
good reason.” 

“ I wonder who doth not,” said mine uncle, under 
his breath. 

“ I had traded with them before now, and could 
speak their language, after a fashion,” continued my 
cousin Garrett. “ I had once been able to do some 
service to a merchant of Tripoli, and I thought if I 
could get speech of him, he might do me a good turn. 
At last, after long waiting, I succeeded in sending him 
word, and in a few days I found myself in his house 
and treated with all kindness. He found means for 
me to go to Smyrna, and from thence the way home 
was easy.” 

“ It was well you fell into the hands of the Moors, 
and not into the claws of the Inquisition,” said my 
uncle. “ Strange that one should find better treat- 
ment at the hands of heathens and infidels than of 
those who call themselves Christians.” 

“ We may find those same claws clutching at our 
throats even here, and that before we know it,” ob- 
served Garrett. “ I can tell you, father, I like not 


286 


Loveday's History . 

the signs of the times. But will you walk to the 
warehouse with me, and I will see that our fair cousin 
here hath her finery sent home safely.” 

“ ’Tis but little finery the poor maid hath brought 
with her,” answered my uncle, smiling. “ Our flight 
was too secret and sudden for that. But I will walk 
with you, and we will leave the women to gossip to 
their heart’s content.” 

“As if they would not gossip worse than any 
women when they get two or three together,” said 
Avice, laughing. “ But sit you down, and rest. Love- 
day. I will but give some orders, and be with you 
again directly.” 

She set an arm chair for me as she spoke, and I was 
not sorry to be left alone a few minutes, for my head 
was fairly whirling. The room where I sat was wide 
and high, handsomer than any in Suffolk house, and 
fairly crowded with carved and inlaid cabinets, dam- 
ask-covered chairs and little tables. The projecting 
window was partly veiled by broad white curtains, 
and just above it was an arrangement of bright mir- 
rors, jointed curiously together, whereof I could not 
at first perceive the use, but I presently discovered 
that by it one was enabled to see, without being seen, 
all that went on in the street. The little square or 
place before the house was green as emerald, and not 
a speck or stick was to be seen on its surface, while a 
pond in the midst gave entertainment to a pair of 
swans and some white ducks. On the highest chim- 
ney of a fine house across the square was a pile of rub- 
bish, at which I was wondering, when I saw a long- 
legged and long-billed bird alight near it, and begin 
strutting up and down in a pompous way, that re- 


287 


“ Exiled , and yet at Home” 

minded me of the old beadle in our parish church in 
London. 

“ What is that bird? ” I asked of Aunt Joyce, who 
just then entered the room. 

“ Why ’tis a stork, child. The people here treat 
them as a kind of sacred animal, and the man who 
should kill one would be looked upon as a murderer. 
’Tis counted a very lucky thing to have a stork’s nest 
on one’s house. We have a fine one. ’Tis said that the 
young birds will carry their old parents on their 
shoulders, and that the parents will perish in the fire 
rather than desert their young. Every one is glad to 
see the storks come back in the spring.” 

“ No wonder, if they are such good creatures. But, 
aunt, are all the people here as neat in their ways as 
my cousin ? The house is so clean, lam almost afraid 
to move for fear of soiling something.” 

“ You will see,” answered my aunt. “ I do think, 
niece, that Dutch - women in general think of their 
houses not so much as places to dwell in, as objects 
on which to exercise their love for cleansing. ’Tis 
said that the pastor of Brock, which is the very Para- 
dise of neatness, found it hard to interest the women 
of his parish in heavenly things till he described 
Heaven as a place where golden pavements admitted 
of unlimited scouring. Avice falls in with these ways 
easily enough. You know she was always a born 
housekeeper, but I fancy poor Katherine is looked 
upon as a helpless slattern by her Dutch neighbors. 
Happily for her, Arthur’s congregation is made up of 
English and Scotch people, who are not quite so par- 
ticular.” 

“ And Katherine is happy in her marriage ? ” 


288 


Loveday's History . 


“ Oh, yes. Her husband is one of the best of men, 
and she hath four lovely babes — the last I have not 
seen. They are not rich, nor ever will be, at least in 
this world’s goods, but they have treasure in Heaven, 
ay and in this world also. I never saw a better 
ordered family of children. ’Tis a great grief to Gar- 
rett and Avice that they have none ; but, as I tell them, 
there is time enough, and it may be better after all,” 
said my aunt, sighing. “ In a gale those are best off 
who spread the least sail.” 

“ But is not the Protestant religion allowed here ? ” 
I asked, in surprise. “ I thought there was no danger 
on that score.” 

“ ’Tis rather winked at than allowed,” replied 
my aunt. “The emperor is a crafty man, and 
knows well the temper and drift of this people. I 
believe he will avoid a quarrel if he can, and he is not 
a man to be driven by the Church of Rome further 
or faster than he likes to go. But he grows old, and 
talks at times of abdicating in favor of his son, who 
is, as all men say, a cold, cruel bigot, valuing nothing 
so much as what he calls — God save the mark — Chris- 
tian and Catholic unity. I believe the hour which 
puts the reins into his hands will be a sad one for 
Holland.” 

“ Heaven help us,” said I. “ Is there to be no rest 
in this world ? ” 

“ Not that I know of,” replied my aunt, with that 
sweet, wise smile that I remembered so well. “ The 
Master, at least, has promised us none, and what right 
have we to expect peace with His worst enemy. Mark 
my word, child, if the day ever does come that the 
church and the world have no controversy, that will 


“ Exiled, and yet at Home” 280 

be the worst day the church will ever see. But now 
tell me of our friends, the Davises: Were they not 
greatly relieved to hear of Margaret’s safety?” 

“ They had not heard it, the last I knew,” I 
answered, surprised. “ Where is she ? ” 

“ At Amsterdam, with her husband, who has fallen 
on his feet as I may say, having gotten work in one of 
the great printing houses, where his skill hath already 
raised him to a high place, and Margaret hath a school 
for young maids, which is very successful.” 

“ And so it should be. One better fitted for such 
an office could not be. I hope I may see her, for she 
hath been one of the best friends I ever had.” 

But I must not linger over the history of those 
quiet, happy days ; for happy they were spite of the 
secret grief and longing which no one guessed — or so 
I believed. I had thought the matter over and over, 
and had gained all the light I could from an honest 
study of Holy Scripture, and I could not see that I 
was guilty of any sin in loving Walter Corbet. It 
was not sacrilege, as I had first believed, since no word 
in the Bible prohibited priests from marrying. I 
might make my love a sin, it was true, if I let it 
make me gloomy or discontented ; if I brooded over 
it and occupied my thoughts therewith so as to inter- 
fere with my duties to God or man. But this I was 
humbly resolved not to do. My Father had laid this 
cross upon me, and I would bear it till he saw fit to 
remove it, or to change it for that crown which he 
hath promised to them that endure to the end. I had 
read some romances and tales of maids who died for 
love or had unworthily cast themselves away. The 
e first might perhaps come — the last I thought never. It 


290 


Lovedcu/s History . 


seemed to me, and does so seem now, that the very 
fact of a woman’s loving honestly would make her 
self-respecting and discreet. Passion might make 
women act unworthily — true love never ! 

Thus thinking and resolving, I went to work with 
all my might at whatever my hands could find to do, 
and I only wished it were more. Garrett Van Alstine 
was still rich despite a few losses, and my uncle was 
also well-to-do. Servants were plenty, and I soon 
found the Dutch maids brooked little interference 
with their ways. There seemed to be no indigent 
people ; one never saw a beggar in the street ; and even 
in the poorest parts of the town there were the same 
comfort and neatness, though of course not the same 
amount of luxury, which were found in our own 
neighborhood. I made a long visit to Katherine, and 
one to Margaret Hall, in Amsterdam. I could have 
found plenty to do in either place, for Kate’s olive- 
branches, as Garrett called them, had sprung very 
close together, and though Arthur’s congregation 
gave according to their means for their pastor’s sup- 
port, yet those means were not great. There were 
plenty both of steps and stitches to be taken in the 
little parsonage, and I would have liked well to stay 
with Katherine, whose English ways, to tell the honest 
truth, suited me better than Avice’s Dutch ones. Mar- 
garet Hall was, if not rich, yet well-to-do. Her school 
had grown to as large a size as she could manage, and 
both she and her husband would have liked me to 
take it off her hands, and have her free to help her hus- 
band in correcting of the press and the like. The work 
would have suited me well enough, but my uncle would 
not hear of my leaving him, and indeed showed more 


u Exiled, and yet at Home” 291 

of his old choleric temper on the occasion than 
I had yet seen. Of course his will was my law, 
so 1 said no more about the matter. At last 
however, I found work nearer home. There was an 
English congregation in Rotterdam, at present with- 
out a pastor. Many of them were poor people who 
had fled on ‘account of their faith, losing all for the 
sake of the gospel. I soon got in the way of visiting 
among them, and finding there were a good many chil- 
dren, I proposed to my uncle with some diffidence — 
not knowing how he would like it — that I should set 
up a small school for the little maids, . where they 
could learn to read, sew and spin, and other such arts as 
should help them to earn a living. I was pleasantly sur- 
prised to find him take up the idea with great pleasure, 
saying that he had often wished some one would do 
that work. The parents of the children were equally 
pleased. My uncle found out and furnished a small 
room, and I discovered a suitable assistant — such a 
person as we now should call a dame — in an elderly 
widow without children, a part of whose house we 
rented for the school. I soon had my rooms full of 
the little English girls, and there I regularly spent 
half my day overseeing the work, teaching the little 
things to read the Scriptures, and now and then 
moderating a little Dame Webster’s zeal for discipline. 

In this way I spent a not unhappy year, attending 
to my schools, taking lessons in lace-making and en- 
tertaining my uncle and cousins in the evening with 
music when we had no guests, which was not often, 
for Avice was in great favor with her husband’s large 
family, and the good folks quickly adopted me as a 
kinswoman. I learned to talk Dutch pretty fluently, 


292 Loveday's History . 

by the simple process of talking right or wrong, and 
by reading such books as I could lay hands on. My 
cousin’s house was one of the gathering places of the 
distinguished reformers whereof Holland was full of 
at that time. They were a wonderful scholarly set 
of men, and much given to long theological discus- 
sions on matters which, it seemed to me, * were alto- 
gether beyond the scope of human reason. Many 
times the discussion waxed so warm that I thought it 
would end in a downright rupture, but all would 
presently be friends again over the dainty supper 
dishes which Avice provided on these occasions, and I 
never saw men enjoy good things more. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

ANOTHER HOME. 

UGUST had come round again. Such of 
the Dutch merchants as had places in the 
country retired to them and passed long 
hours contemplating their flower beds and their fat 
cows. For my own part, I liked Rotterdam better, 
since there, at least, we had the fresh sea-breeze. 
Truth to tell, with all its neatness, Holland is not a 
savory country in hot weather. Garrett and Avice 
had gone down to visit Katherine, and the maids had 
seized on the chance for a perfect carnival or orgy of 
brushing and scrubbing, though the house was always 
as clean as hands could make it. However, Gatty had 
brought me that morning a very small spider web, 
tenanted by a very little spider, as a triumphant justi- 
fication of her proceedings. So I had nothing to say, 
and, indeed, I always carefully abstained from med- 
dling in the housekeeping. I was tired and discour- 
aged — I suppose such times come to every one — feel- 
ing that my burden had been carried long enough, 
and that I could not bear it any longer. I was not 
very well either, having been troubled of late with 
one of those irregular agues which are the plague of 



i 



294 


Zoveday's History. 


that country. I had heard a rumor that morning 
that a new pastor was coming to the English congre- 
gation, hut I did not know his name, and felt, just 
then, no great interest in the matter, beyond hoping 
that he would not interfere with my little school. 

I was glad to find, on arriving at home, that the 
maids had so far finished their operations that the 
house was once more habitable. I looked into my 
aunt’s room, and seeing her comfortably dozing in her 
chair, I went to my own, and indulged in a fit of 
weeping, which was an unusual thing with me. I 
was just washing my face and making myself present- 
able when I heard my uncle’s voice calling me. I 
hurried my preparations, knowing his impatience at 
being kept waiting, but was not quite ready when I 
heard him coming up two steps at a time. 

“ Come, come, girl, what needs all this prinking ? ” 
he asked, as I opened the door. “ Here is a messenger 
from our good protecter and friend, his Grace of 
Suffolk.” 

I was not long in following him down stairs, and 
into the parlor. The queer feeling of knowing all 
about it came over me as I entered the room, and I 
was not one bit surprised to see Walter Corbet, thin 
and worn, and dressed like a common sailor, talking 
with my Aunt Holland. 

Our greeting was quiet and natural enough, but 
our eyes told their tale to each other, and I fancy also 
to my aunt and uncle, for I saw a smiling glance pass 
between them. 

“ This is the Duke’s messenger, and also our new 
English pastor, albeit he looks not very reverend in 
his present attire ! ” said mine uncle. “ But ‘ ’tis not 


Another Home . 


295 


the cassock that makes the priest,’ is an old and pithy 
proverb. Kinsman, you are most welcome. And how 
left you the Duke and Duchess ? ” 

“ Well in health, but in deep affliction,” answered 
Walter. “ They have lost their two promising young 
sons.” 

“ Alas, the sweet babes, are they gone ? ” I said. 
“ What ailed them ? ” 

“ The sweating sickness. My Lady Frances also 
had it, but recovered, thanks to her mother’s nursing. 
’Twas most sweet to see how her Grace put aside her 
own grief to attend on her step-daughter, and com- 
fort her husband. But the blow hath been a terrible 
one for his Grace. I doubt he will hardly recover it.” 

“ My mistress was ever a most noble lady, and the 
best of wives and mothers,” said I. “ I can believe 
any good of her, whether in prosperity or adversity.” 

“ And his Grace keeps court favor still ? ” asked 
mine uncle. 

“ Ay — that is, he keeps that of the king, albeit he 
has enemies enough, for he hath never made any 
secret of his principles. Gardiner hates him, like the 
venemous adder that he is.” 

“ Nephew, nephew, deliver all with charity ! ” said 
my aunt, rather shocked. 

“I crave pardon, madam — of the snake,” answered 
Walter, with a flash of his old fun in his eyes. “ The 
poor reptile at least only acts out his nature, and uses 
no deceit. Gardiner is as much a Papist as ever he 
was, and so it will be seen if that side ever again gets 
uppermost.” 

“ But will it ever, think you ? ” 

“Not if our gracious Prince Edward is preserved to 


296 


Loveday's History. 


us. But lie is a delicate lad, or so it is said, and 
failing liim the Lady Mary is the next heir. Every 
one knows what her bent is ; and besides that, her 
nature has been cankered and embittered by her own 
wrongs and those of her mother.” 

“ Small wonder, poor thing ! ” remarked my uncle ; 
“yet might she remember that both Tyndale and 
Luther took her mother’s part. But come to my 
room, kinsman, and change your dress for somewhat 
more befitting, and, then, when you have dined, we 
will hear your adventures.” 

Walter’s adventures were soon told. He had fallen 
under suspicion for preaching and teaching, and his 
Grace had thought it best for him tofiy while there 
was yet time. He had heard that a new pastor was 
needed in the English community at Rotterdam, and 
had come hither to offer his services, till the time 
should come when he could return in safety to his 
beloved cure in Devon. 

I know not exactly how the matter was arranged, 
but Walter was soon installed as pastor over the small 
English congregation, and delivered his first sermon 
to the satisfaction of every one ; though I believe some 
of the Dutch scholars who attended on the occasion, 
thought he was not sufficiently metaphysical, and that 
he dwelt too much on the need of good works. But 
his own people were content ; so it mattered the less. 
A small parsonage was attached to the church, pre- 
sided over by a somewhat severe English dame, and 
here Walter took up his lodging, though I think he 
supped as often at our house as at his own. 

A month after he was fairly settled in his new 
home and occupation, Walter asked me to be his 


Another Home . 


297 


wife. It was no great surprise to me, and I did not 
pretend that it was ; but I asked him if his conscience 
was quite clear as to marrying after he had taken his 
vow of celibacy. 

“ Absolutely so ! ” he answered. “ My vow was 
taken in ignorance, and because I was misled to be- 
lieve that the Law of God required priests to live a 
single life. Now I find that not only is there no such 
law, but that St. Peter himself was married, and car- 
ried his wife with him on his apostolic journeys, as 
did St. James and the brethren of the Lord, and that 
St. Paul expressly asserts his right to do the same if 
he chooses.* And I can not bring myself to believe 
that the state of life chosen by the Holy Spirit as an 
emblem of the union between the Lord and his church 
can be of itself unholy. But how is it with yourself, 
my dear one ? ” 

“ Oh, I settled the matter long ago ! ” I answered, 
incautiously, and then covered my face with my 
hands, overwhelmed with confusion as I thought of 
the admission I had made. 

“Why, then all is well ! ” said Walter, “and with 
your good leave, I will tell your uncle that you are 
not disinclined to take command of the parsonage and 
its master.” 

“ And how think you Mistress Jennings will like to 
have a young lady put over her ? ” I asked. 

“ If she be not pleased, she hath an easy remedy — » 
she can retire ! ” said W alter. “ But I think not we 
shall have any trouble with her.” 

There was no reason for delay, since every body 

* Farrar argues very plausibly that St, Paul was probably 
a widower. 


298 


Loveday's History. 


was pleased with the match. True, I had not a tithe 
of the body and house linen considered indispensable 
for every bride in Holland. But, as I said, the 
Van Alstine family had kindly adopted me for a 
kinswoman from the first, and they now came forward 
with the most munificent presents from their abundant 
stores. (It grieves me to the heart even now to think 
how much of my setting out I had to leave behind 
me.) Such towels and sheets, such table-cloths and 
napkins, such treasures of old lace and embroidered 
counterpanes ! Every good mother in Holland, as 
soon as a girl is born to her, begins to prepare these 
things for her wedding, and by the time the child 
is old enough to be married, she has linen enough 
to last her lifetime. Garrett and Avice would 
give me my wedding dresses, and my uncle 
refurnished the house from top to bottom. Arthur 
and Kate came from Middleburg, and Arthur married 
us. Contrary to Walter’s expectation, Mistress Jen- 
nings took his marriage exceedingly ill, and abdicated 
at once, saying she would have no fine young lady 
set over her head. I was not at all sorry. When 
she found her retirement made no such sensation as 
she expected, she offered very condescendingly to re- 
main and put the new mistress in the way of manag- 
ing her household. But as it happened, the new 
mistress thought she knew how already ; so we let her 
go, and I hired a nice, strong, clever English wench, 
who I thought would be sufficient for us at present, 
with occasional help from outside on emergencies. 

It was a very happy home which was covered by 
the many-cornered red-tiled roof of the little parson- 
age. I think old Madame Van Alstine, Garrett’s 


Another Home . 


299 


step-motlier, had no fears for us after a pair of storks 
settled themselves on one of our chimneys. It is the 
storks in Holland which bring all the babies, but they 
never brought us any. It was a grief at the time, 
but we came to see that all was ordered aright, and 
the want was made up to us afterward. I had the 
more time to give to the school and the work of the 
church. After a time, Katherine spared to me one of 
her daughters who was and hath ever been a great 
comfort to us. 

The year after my marriage, my Aunt Joyce died, at 
the age of ninety-eight. She was well and able to 
wait upon herself to the very last day of her life. 
Aviee had a fine little maid by that time, and my 
aunt was at the christening and gave the babe her 
own name. The next morning, when Avice went to 
call her as usual, she was no longer there. She had 
evidently passed away in her sleep. It was a happy 
death, but we missed her sorely. Of all women I 
ever saw, she had the most excellently even temper 
and discretion. As the saying is, one always knew 
where to have her. This was the only important 
change which took place in our family for five years. 
I had come to look upon Holland as home, and my 
English life was almost like a dream. We heard of 
things going from bad to worse, of the king’s uncer- 
tain temper and continual change of policy, of Prot- 
estants and Papists alike being hanged and burned 
for their religion. Nor were we wholly without fears 
for ourselves. There were ominous growlings of 
subterranean thunder, rumors of the establishment of 
the Holy Office in Holland, of new imposts and severe 
laws against sectaries ; but as yet the storm which is 


300 


Loveday’s History. 


now raging over that brave and unhappy people did 
but mutter in the distance. Walter and my uncle 
used to talk about England by the hour, but for myself, 
I must say, I was never homesick, save when I thought 
of certain sparkling springs and the like. I would 
have loved to see a babbling brook once more. 

We had just kept our Christmas holidays, with the 
usual interchange of gifts and distribution of spiced 
and gilded cakes. I remember I was putting away a 
famous one, mounted on a fine china dish, which Wil- 
helmina Bogardus had sent me for a present. We 
had begun to get china dishes then, but they were a 
great rarity, and right pleased I was with my New 
Year’s gift. All at once the door was opened, and in 
came my husband, my uncle and Garrett Yan Alstine, 
all talking together, and so full of their tidings that 
they actually forgot to wipe their feet, and brought 
more mud into my parlor than Garrett would ever 
have dared to take into his own house, that I know. 

“News, my love! great news!” said Walter. 
“ King Henry is dead. And Prince Edward now is 
king. Now may we return in peace to our home in 
dear old Devon, and dwell once more among our own 
people.” 

This was the first time that I realized how constantly 
my husband had cherished the hope of returning to his 
old cure. I must say the news did not come to me as 
to him. I had had enough of removing to and fro. 
I had. many friends in Rotterdam, and none that I 
knew of in Devon, and I would have been content to 
spend my life in that same little parsonage, waked 
every morning by the clatter of the storks and the 
cry of their young ones. I loved our people and the 


Another Home . 


301 


family which had so frankly and kindly adopted me, 
and my heart sunk at the thought of such another 
pulling up as this would be. I answered rather peev- 
ishly : 

“ At all events, you need not bring all Holland in 
upon my clean floor. We are not going to take the 
country with us, I suppose.” 

I was ashamed of myself the moment the words 
were spoken. The men all looked at me in surprise, 
and I saw in a moment that my husband was hurt by 
my outburst. 

“ Why, what ails thee, this morning ? ” said mine 
uncle, laughing. “ Art become such a thorough Dutch 
housewife as to think a little mud on the floor of 
more matter than the death of a king or the well- 
being of the church ? ” 

Anneke called me out to the kitchen just then, and 
I was not sorry to get away and recover my compos- 
ure. When I had settled the domestic difficulty, 
whatever it was, I retired to my chamber, and strove 
by prayer and meditation to bring myself to a better 
temper. I succeeded so far that I was able to meet 
my husband with a pleasant face when he came in to 
dinner, and to ask him particulars of the news he had 
received from England. He was the same as ever, 
and told me all he had heard ; but he said never a 
word of returning to Devon, and I felt that I would 
not trust myself with the subject just now. 

We were bidden to supper at Garrett Yan Alstine’s 
house that night, to meet the guests who had 
brought the news. I was pleased to meet in one of 
them a gentleman I had often seen in her Grace of 
Suffolk’s withdra wing-room — one Mr. Evans, a West- 


302 


Lov edccy's History . 


country man and a great scholar. While I sat talk- 
ing with him, I heard Avice say to my husband in a 
tone of surprise — 

“ But you will never think of leaving us, and re- 
turning to England, surely ?” 

“ Of course not,” said Mynheer Bogardus, Garrett’s 
uncle, a very rich and consequential merchant, who 
always seemed to think he was to carry all before 
him by sheer force of will. “I take it Master Wal- 
ter is too wise a man to leave certainty for uncer- 
tainty.” 

“I have hitherto found uncertainty the only cer- 
tain thing in this world,” answered Walter, smiling. 
“ I suppose our poor friends in Ilonak were as certain 
of rising in the morning as we are.” He alluded to 
a flourishing village, which only a few days before 
had been destroyed in the night so that not a trace 
remained, and that not by an inundation, but by that 
strange undermining of the sea, which gives no warn- 
ing, and which has destroyed thousands of lives in 
Holland. 

“ But why should you wish to change again ? ” 
asked another. “I do not understand that your 
benefice in England is a very wealthy one.” 

“I would you could see it,” said Walter, smiling, 
and then turning to me : “ Tell me, sweetheart, what 
would Mistress Yan Sittart think were she translated 
to one of our Devon farm-houses ? ” 

“ She would think herself transported to some 
island of savages,” said I ; and I could not but laugh as 
I thought of Carolina Yan Sittart, who was a wonder 
of neatness even among Dutch women, in an or- 
dinary farmer’s kitchen, or even a gentleman’s 


Another Home . 


303 


diiling-hall, in our old neighborhood at Peckham 
Hall. 

“ Then I am sure Mistress Corbet will not wish to 
go,” said Carolina. “ You would not be so cruel as 
to carry her off among savages,” and with that they 
all fell upon him at once for thinking of such cruelty. 

“ As to that, different people have different cus- 
toms,” said I, in some heat, for when it came to the 
pinch, of course I took Walter’s part ; “ and if the 
people are such savages, they have the more need of 
one to teach them the way of life. Here in Rotter- 
dam every one can have at least a Testament, or if 
not, they can hear the Word read and preached 
every Sunday.” 

“ True, but how many never do ? ” 

“ That is their own fault. I suppose if the apostles 
had waited till every one in Jerusalem was converted 
before they preached elsewhere, you might be offer- 
ing human sacrifices to this day, Mynheer Bogardus, 
as they say your ancestors, the free Frisians, used 
to do.” 

Walter gave me a look and smile that went to my 
heart, and Mynheer Bogardus muttered something in 
his beard about women minding their distaffs — as if 
I could not spin as well as Gatty any day. 

“ Then you would not mind going,” said Avice, 
with one of her innocent looks of wonder. “ You 
would not mind leaving us all and going into that 
wild West Country among the moors and hills.” 

A great lump came into my throat, but I swallowed 
it, and answered resolutely : 

“ I do not say that I should choose it, but if my 
husband’s duty leads him thither, ’tis clearly mine not 


304 


Loveday's History. 


to let him go alone. And as to the moors and hills, 
I am not sure but I would love to see some land not 
so flat that a tall man can be seen two miles off. And 
I am very sure I should like a drink of water from a 
living spring once more.” 

A call to supper interrupted the discussion, which 
was doubtless as well, for I was growing warm, as 
one is apt to do when arguing against one’s self. No 
more was said at that time, but when we were walk- 
ing homeward, Walter asked me, saying : 

“ Sweetheart, did you really mean all you said to- 
night about going back to Devon? Would you in- 
deed go and content yourself ? ” 

“ I would go, of course, if you did,” I answered. “ I 
don’t pretend to say I should like it as well in all 
ways, bat I doubt not I could content myself, and I 
am pretty well used to changes.” 

“ Ay, that you are, poor child,” said Walter. 

“ But, husband, I would not have you decide in 
haste,” I added. “Take time to consider. You 
know Mynheer Bogardus says second thoughts are 
best.” 

“ And do you think so ? ” asked my husband, with 
one of his penetrating looks. 

“No; honestly I do not,” I answered. “I think 
when one is habitually guided by high Christian prin- 
ciple, as you are, that the first thought is usually the 
best, because the second is apt to get mixed up with 
worldly policy. But, husband, I would have you 
take time to consider and pray over this matter. Take 
counsel with Mr. Evans. He knows the West Coun- 
try well, and can tell you what are the prospects, and 
I know his Grace ever held him in esteem as a wise 


Another Home . 


305 


and sober man. Then if you decide that your duty 
takes you back to the gray parsonage your wife will 
not say one word to withhold you.” 

Walter pressed my hand. “ Your counsel is good, 
and I will take it,” said he ; but I knew well enough 
what the end would be. Men are ever ready to take 
counsel after they have made up their own minds. 

Mr. Evans came to give us a visit next day, and he 
and Walter had a great talk, I sitting by with my 
knitting, which I have ever found a great sooth- 
er of the nerves.* He was, as I had said, a wise 
and sober man, and a devout Christian. He told 
Walter he believed the reign of King Edward would 
see the Reformed faith set on so firm a basis as that 
no after persecution could overthrow it. 

“ The truth spreads more and more among the peo- 
ple, and with it the knowledge of letters. Old men 
and women can then have books, and their criss-cross 
row, that they may be able to read the Gospel with 
their own eyes. There have been great stirrings and 
preachings about Exeter, and those not always of the 
wisest kind. ’Tis the tendency of poor human nature 
ever to run to extremes.” 

“ The more need for preachers who shall not run to 
extremes,” said my husband. 

“ True,” answered Mr. Evans. “ There is, indeed, 
great need of wise and sober preachers and teachers, 
and that especially among our warm-hearted and 
quick-witted men of Devon. As to the matter of 
safety, you are as well off there as here — nay, bet- 

* Women ought to be forever grateful to the Spanish Moors, 
who seem first to have brought knitting into Europe from the- 
East. 


S06 


Xjoveday's History . 


ter, so long as King Edward lives, whom God pre- 
serve. I did marvel to hear Mynheer Bogardus 
speak so confidently last night. Does he forget that 
Holland is wholly in the power of Spain, and that 
Spain is ruled by the Inquisition ? ” 

“I think he does, just as the Hollanders forget that 
the sea is ever watching to take back what they have 
wrested from it. The emperor hath ever been favor- 
able, rather than otherwise, to his Dutch subjects.” 

“ Ay, but the emperor grows old, and also devout, 
which last is not of good omen to his Protestant 
people,” answered Master Evans, dryly. “ Moreover, 
if he should abdicate, as you know he often talks of 
doing — ” 

“ Think you that will ever happen ? ” 

“ That is more than I can say, but if it does it will 
lay a knife to every Protestant throat in Holland — 
that am I as sure of as of mine own life.” 

But I must not make my story too long. "Walter 
did wait, and did think, but his mind was made up 
from the first, and the first of May saw us packed up 
and ready to go on board a Dutch vessel trading to 
Bristol. 

’Twas a hard parting, and the more that I had to 
leave my little Kate behind, her mother not being 
willing to trust her so far from her own home. I did 
not blame her, for I knew I should have felt just so 
in her place, but yet ’twas like parting with a hand to 
leave the dear child behind. We took our old En- 
glish maid, Mary Thornton, with us, and I had just 
seen my good Anneke settled in her husband’s farm- 
house in such comfort as I would I could see any 
where here. (I suppose the great farm, with all its 


Another Home, 


307 


crops and barns, its warm house and beautiful pictures, 
is all under water now.) I will not linger on the part- 
ing. Be it enough to say that we reached Bristol after 
a somewhat tedious, but very safe voyage, that we had 
a rough journey from thence to Biddeford, in a dirty 
little coaster, and at last, a month after leaving home, 
found ourselves at our own house in the little village 
or hamlet of Coombe Ashton. 



CHAPTER XV. 

COOMBE ASHTON. 

vicarage of Coombe Ashton is just beside 
i gray old church, so that its garden and 
shard, and the churchyard run together 
without any divisions, save a bank overrun with sweet- 
brier and ivy. ’Tis a stone house of two floors and 
three or four gables, convenient and roomy enough, 
but plain and unornamented as any farm house. I 
shall never forget how forlorn and wretched it looked 
to my eyes the first time I entered its doors. My 
husband had left his cure in the hands of Sir David 
Dean, a good and religious priest, but one as absent- 
minded and indifferent to his own comfort as any 
man I ever saw. He had lived alone in the. vicarage 
all these years without a housekeeper, save that an 
old woman, living in one of the alms-cottages by the 
church-gate, now and then came in and scratched about 
a bit like a hen in a straw-yard. Any one who knows 
what men are when left to themselves, may guess 
what condition matters were in' after seven or eight 
years of such housekeeping. The rushes on the floor 
must have been at least three months old, and showed 
such a state of things when we swept them out, that 
Mary Thornton sat down on the doorstep and cried. 




Coombe Ashtdri. 


§09 

" Come, come, Mary ; this will never do,” said I, 
though I could have cried myself, easily enough. 
“ Think if Madame Bogardus should come in and find 
us in all this mess.” 

Mary Thornton laughed and then cried again, and 
having so relieved her mind, went to work like a 
heroine. How we two women slaved that day, sweep- 
ing and scouring, and shaking out, while the village 
maid, whom Walter had sent in, did little more than 
stare in amazement, and stand about in the way. 
Thanks to my uncle and Garrett, we had enough 
ready money, so Walter rode over to Biddeford and 
brought back a piece of moreen and another of green 
baize. When we had the house decently clean and 
sweet, Mary and I set ourselves down to the making 
of some hangings and curtains, and while we were 
thus busy, one of our parishioners, a farmer’s wife, 
Dame Yeo, came in, bringing a pot of cream and a 
basket of new laid eggs. 1 must say our people were 
very good to us from the first, save two or three 
families, who, holding to the old ways, looked upon 
Walter and myself as altogether profane and 
sacrilegious persons. 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed the good woman, in sur- 
prise. “ Well, you do look as neat as any daisy. 
But, my dear soul, what be you a-doin’ now. Making 
of hangings, I declare. Why thou’lt never get 
through all that by thyself, madam.” 

“ Oh, you don’t know how much I can do,” I 
answered. 

“ 1 see well, madam, that you are a good housewife,” 
answered Dame Yeo, “but yet you should have more 
help. There is a very decent body living alone in a 


310 Loveday's History . 

• 

cottage down to our place who has skill with the 
needle. May be you saw her in church — a tall woman 
in black, a-sitting on one of the stone benches. Folks 
say she has been a nun, and some hint that she knows 
more than she should, but I believe she is a good 
woman for all that.” 

“ I noticed her, and wondered who and what she 
was,” said I. “ Do you think, dame, she would come 
and help us ?” 

“ I dare say she would, and I will ask her when I 
go home. But, madam, there is good news for you. 
Our young squire and his lady "have returned to the 
manor house, and ’tis said they mean to live there, or 
at least, to abide some time.” 

“ Who are they ?” I asked. “You know I am a 
stranger here.” 

“Oh, they are great folks,” answered Dame Yeo. 
“ Sir Robert is heir to my Lord Stantoun of Stantoun, 
unless he should marry again and have children, and 
my lady is daughter to old Sir Stephen Corbet They 
lived here once before a little while, but the lady was 
carried off by pirates and hardly rescued, and after 
that they took a dislike to the place. Some say,” 
and here her voice sunk to a whisper, “ that it was 
not pirates who carried her off, but that a priest was 
mixed up in it. I don’t know. Any how, she is a most 
gracious lady, and I am right glad she hath come back. 
Well, Madam Corbet, I will send Dame Anne to you, 
an’ you will.” 

“ Do so,” I answered. cc And, dame, will you carry 
this little book to your daughter. ’Tis a copy of the 
Psalms in English, and will be easy for her to hold 
and read.” For poor Amy Yeo was held fast in bed 


Coombe Ashton. 


311 


by a broken joint which had never knit kindly and 
gave her great pain. “ Tell her my husband will come 
to see her as soon as he can.” 

The good woman departed well pleased, and it was 
not long before the woman she called Dame Anne, 
made her appearance. I saw at once that she was a 
lady, and made haste to set her an easy chair. She 
put on no airs, however, but seeing on what we were 
engaged she went at once to work and showed that 
she knew what she was about. 

“ The lady sews like a Dutch woman ! ” said Mary 
Thornton. ^ 

“ Nevertheless I have never been out of England,” 
answered Dame Anne, smiling, “ but I was convent- 
bred, and there we learned to handle our needles at 
least.” 

“ Ay, and many another good thing beside,” I 
answered. “ I wonder sometimes what young ladies 
will do for education now the convents are put 
down ? ” 

“ Perhaps their mothers will keep them at home and 
teach them, which is the natural way, methinks,” 
answered Dame Anne. “An’ I had a daughter, 
I would never put her into any hands but my 
own.” 

I may as well say here, that we found Dame Anne 
one of our greatest helps in the parish. The woman 
who had kept a little school in the hamlet down by 
the shore— a very superior person by all accounts — 
had died about six months before, and the children 
were running wild. After making himself well ac- 
quainted with her, and having duly consulted with 
our lady of the manor. Dame Anne was installed by 


312 


Lov eddy's History . 


ray husband in the office of school -mistress, and filled 
it to admiration as long as she lived. 

Well, the end of the month found us fairly settled 
in our new home, and very comfortable therein. 
When Sir David came home from Exeter — whither 
he had gone to meet us, though we had never told 
him we meant to go thither — he held his hands up in 
amazement at the change wrought in the parsonage. 
But he would by no means have his abode with us, 
saying that he should only be in our way, and that he 
was too old to change his habits, so he took up his 
lodging with an old couple who had more room than 
they wanted, and lived with them to the day of his 
death, which happened about three years after. He 
had a modest competence, which he bequeathed to the 
poor of the parish; and my husband, with Sir Richard’s 
approbation, built and endowed therewith two 
more alms-houses, specially for disabled fishermen, 
or their widows. But 1 am running before my 
story. 

If Sir David had been a bad housekeeper, he had 
not been an unfaithful priest, as the state of the parish 
showed plainly enough. The church had been stripped 
of its images, but not defaced and half ruined, as was 
the case with too many. The great painted window 
was quite untouched, the chancels decent and clean, 
and the seats whole. It was but a little place at best, 
and a good deal of space was taken up by two or 
three great altar tombs, but it was large enough to 
hold all the inhabitants of the two hamlets which 
made up the parish. Sir David had provided at his 
own expense a great Bible, which was chained to a 
desk in the choir, where any one was at liberty to read 


Coombe Ashton. 


313 


it, and so soon as King Edward’s new prayer book 
and primer were published, Sir Richard Stantoun sent 
for a number of copies from Exeter, and had* them 
placed in the seats or given to heads of families. 
My husband explained the book from the chancel, and 
I must say the most of the people fell in with it very 
quickly, so that we had as well-ordered and devout a 
congregation, I dare say, as could be found in Britain. 
I am proud to say that in the changes which followed 
the king’s early death not one apostate was found in 
my husband’s flock, and had we but been at home 
when the storm broke, I believe we should have es- 
caped in safety. I soon formed a warm friendship 
with our lady of the manor — my Lady Rosamond, 
she was always called, though being a simple knight’s 
daughter, she had, I suppose, no right to the title. 
She had been convent-bred as well as myself, and had 
a narrow escape of being convent ; buried, for — there is 
no harm in writing it now — they were no pirates 
which carried her off, but a certain priest called 
Father Barnaby, who had great power at that time. 
They had her immured in some of their prisons, and 
threatened to bury her alive, but she was saved in 
quite a wonderful way, by her own courage and the 
intervention of that same Magdalen Jewell who had 
been school-mistress here so long. She had known 
Sister Anne well in those days, and was glad to see 
her again. They had been together in the convent 
which was now suppressed like all the rest. Sister 
Anne inquired for the Mother Superior. 

“ She is now visiting a friend, but she will, I be- 
lieve, make her home with me for the rest of her 
days,” answered the lady, “ whether I remain here or 


314 


Loveday's History. 


return to Stantoun Court. She is well, but a good 
deal shaken by all that hath happened.” 

We used to have great comparing of notes as to our 
convent experiences, and we agreed that though the 
way of their suppression was harsh and cruel in many 
instances, yet on the whole the church was better 
without these so-called religious houses. I have never 
seen reason to change my mind. I regretted it greatly 
when Sir Richard, coming to the title by the death 
of my Lord Stantoun, removed to Stantoun Court. 
This excellent pair never forgot the parish of Coombe 
Ashton, however, but always held up my husband’s 
hands in his parish work. 

Walter preached, and prayed, and studied, and 
visited the sick and dying, and was, I dare be sworn, 
as faithful a parish priest as could be found in En- 
gland. Meantime, I, on my part, kept his house and 
overlooked the parish school, and another which we 
had set up down at the Cove for the little children 
who would not come so far in bad weather. I tried, 
too, to teach the gospel of cleanliness as I had learned 
it in Holland, but here I had indifferent success. 
’Tvvas so much easier to cover the floors with rushes 
than to sweep them every day and scrub them twice 
a week ; and as to the ill smells and the vermin, why 
they were used to them. However, I did make some 
progress with the young ones, and I soon came to the 
conclusion that it was not worth while to push my 
zeal too far. The good women liked their maids to 
learn sewing and knitting, mending and shaping, and 
they were well pleased when I taught some of them, 
as a reward, to make a serviceable kind of lace with 
the needle. The maids learned to read, and some of 
them to write, and to reckon in their heads. 


Coombe Ashton. 


315 


By and by we bad a boy’s school taught by a young 
man sent us by my lord. It was not so w T ell attend- 
ed as the other, for the farmers and fishers were not 
willing to spare their lads after they were old enough 
to be useful, but yet we turned out some good schol- 
ars. My husband was a musican like all the Corbets, 
and the school master was also a singer. So we had 
some good music in the church. 

On the whole, it was a happy time. I will not deny 
that I was now and then homesick, especially when 
three or four times a year I had a packet from Hol- 
land. Avice was usually the writer, and a capital 
correspondent she was, telling me all the news of our 
old neighbors, and every thing that happened in the 
family. Garrett Van Alstine wrote to my husband 
and told him what was going on in church and State, 
and ’twas plain to see that he was by no means easy 
in his mind. The emperor had, indeed, not abdicated 
in favor of his son, but he was always talking of it, 
and, as he grew older, and more feeble in mind and 
body, he came more and more under the influence of 
the priests. There were restrictions placed upon the 
printing and sale of Protestant books, and threat- 
ening rumors as to the breaking up of Protestant con- 
gregations. Avice wrote that their neighbors of the 
old church, with whom they had ever lived in friend- 
ship and harmony, began to look coldly on them 
and to withdraw from their intimacy, and that 
Margaret Hall’s school at Amsterdam had been 
almost broken up. On the whole, we were not sorry 
that we had returned to England, where, though mat- 
ters of state were somewhat unsettled, we had no fear 
of persecution for the truth’s sake. 


316 Loveclay's History . 

It was in the year 1551, that I had a great and agree- 
able surprise. I remember I was busy making cakes 
and comfits, for we were to have a school treat the 
next day, and I had been concerting some famous 
Christmas cakes after our old Dutch receipt, and fash- 
ioning them in the shape of animals and birds, as the 
manner is over there, fora surprise to the young ones. 
I had just taken the last batch from the oven when 
a man-servant in my Lord Stantoun’s livery rode to the 
door, and delivered a note for my husband. Present- 
ly Walter came into the kitchen, when I was put- 
ting the last touches to my cakes. 

“ Here is news, dear heart,” said he. “ My lord and 
lady are at the Manor House, and would have us re- 
pair thither at once. He says that, being in Biddeford, 
he found there a package of great value, consigned to 
us from Holland, and which he must deliver into our 
own hands.” 

“ Dear me ! ” said I, rather vexed, for I had enough 
to do. “ Why ckn not you go by yourself ? Ho won- 
der Dame Duncan says you are a woman-led priest, 
when you can not so much as go to the Hall without 
me at your elbow ! ” 

Walter only stood smiling at me. He knew it was 
only a spirt of temper, such as all cooks have a right 
to. I made him burn his mouth with a hot cake, and 
then I got ready and went with him to the Hall, leav- 
ing Mary Thornton to finish the work. 

We found my lady with her two young babes, she 
having brought them over by the advice of Master 
Ellen wood, who thought they w T ould be better for the 
more bracing air, as they had trouble with their teeth. 
(Master Ellenwood was bred a doctor in Amsterdam, 


Coombe Ashton. 


317 


and had established himself in a good practice at 
Biddeford. He was not seldom our guest, and always 
a welcome one.) 

“ So you have come for your packet ! ” said my 
lady. “ But, dear Mistress Corbet, I know not about 
delivering it. Truth to tell, I am enamored of it, and 
know not how to let it go out of my hands.” * 

I saw my lady was jesting with us ; but sober 
Walter, who could understand every thing but a 
joke, answered gravely that he was sure I would be 
glad to proffer to her ladyship any thing worthy of 
her acceptance.” 

“ I am not so sure of that ! ” answered the lady, 
merrily. “ Suppose now it were a parrot, or marmoset- 
or a fine cat from the Indies, such as you once told 
me of ! ” 

“ You are welcome to all my share in parrot and 
marmoset, and as to the cat I am not so sure, but, at 
least, I will promise you a kitten ! ” said I. “ Cats are 
my weak point, as you know, my -lady.” 

“ Ah, well ! so I must even give my pet into your 
hands. But remember you have promised me a kit- 
ten.” 

There was a little cabinet in the withdrawing-room, 
having a curtain hung over the door, and as I sat, I 
had seen this curtain shake more than once. Now, as 
my lady blew her little silver whistle, it parted, and in 
the opening appeared a child’s head, with flaxen hair 
and large serious blue eyes. 

“ Katherine ! ’tis our own little Katherine ! ” I ex- 
claimed, while Walter stared in amazement. I had 
her in my arms in a moment, while my lady looked on 
smiling. 


318 


Loveday's History . 


“ Did I not tell you ’twas a precious treasure,” she 
asked when our rapture had a little subsided. “ And 
have I not played the honest merchant with you ? ” 

“ Precious, indeed !” said I. “But I am all amazed ! 
How did it happen ? ” 

“ Hay I do not understand the matter well enough 
to tell you,” answered my lady. “ But no doubt 
our marmoset can give a good account of herself, so I 
will leave you together till dinner, for you must dine 
with us.” 

I began to say something about preparing for the 
school feast, but my lady cut me short. 

“Never mind the feast. I have brought over com- 
fits and gilt gingerbread enough to satisfy every child 
in Coombe Ashton, not to mention ribbons and scissors 
and all sorts of prizes. Do you stay and dine 
here, and to-morrow we will all attend the school 
feast.” 

So we were fain to sit down, and taking the dar- 
ling between us, to hear all she had to say. She was 
grown a little, but not changed in her looks, which 
were her mother’s over again, and she had the same 
sweet serious way with her. 

The story, disentangled from all our questions and 
remarks, was this: 

Arthur and Katherine had begun to find their posi- 
tion in Middleburg both uneasy and insecure. Their 
congregation, always small, had been almost broken 
up by deaths and removals, and they were doubting 
which way to turn next, when Arthur received a call 
from an English colony in Wesel, one of the German 
towns belonging to the famous Hanse league. They 
had gathered together a congregation, but had not 


Coombe Ashton. 


319 


yet found a pastor, when some one from Amsterdam 
who knew Arthur told them of him. 

The call was too clearly Providential not to be 
heeded. Katherine’s oldest boy had already been 
placed with Garrett Van Alstine to be made a mer- 
chant of, and an opportunity occurring to send Kath- 
erine directly to Biddeford in the care of a merchant 
well known to my uncle and cousin, they had taken 
advantage thereof, wishing, as Arthur wrote, to know 
that at least one of their children was in security. 
Little did they or we know of the storm th at was 
about to burst upon England. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE GREAT STOEM, 

ELL, the school feast was held with great 
success, and was all the more enjoyed that we 
had my lady with us, for she was one of 
those who carry sunshine wherever they go. Our 
little Kate was taken to the arms and heart of the 
parish at once, and many were the “dear souls” and 
“ tender lambs ” bestowed upon her by the warm- 
hearted Devon women, and much the wonder that 
coming from outlandish parts she should speak English 
as well as any body. Poor Kate found it a good deal 
easier to make herself understood than to understand, 
for the Devon dialect is almost as different from that 
of London as the Dutch tongue itself. But she was 
a cheerful, brave little maid, always disposed to make 
the best of every thing and every body, and though 
scandalized at the sluttery of the housekeeping, and 
a little scared at the cliffs and the hills (having never in 
her life seen any thing higher than a church steeple), 
yet she soon made herself at home, and was a wonder- 
ful help and comfort to me. The children worshiped 
her as though she had come direct from Heaven, and 
if the good dames did not spoil her digestion with 
clotted cream and honey-cakes, and her mind with 




The Great Storm. 


321 


flattery, ’twas more owing to her discretion than 
theirs. 

We passed two more happy years in our quiet 
country home — happier years I am sure no one ever 
spent any where. We had, ’tis true, one great grief 
in the death of a dear little maid, who was sent to 
stay with us three months, and then taken back to her 
home in the skies. ’Twas a grievous loss, but yet I 
took great comfort in the babe, even after I had seen 
the dear little body laid away under the daisies in our 
pretty, green churchyard. I felt that she had been 
given to me — yea, given and not lent — and that she 
would always be mine, though we were separated 
for a season. ’Twas a sweet thought that one more 
blessed spirit was resting in Jesus, and that it was my 
child ; and I was able to take comfort in it even when 
I was folding the clothes she had not worn out, and 
putting away the cradle she would never need. The 
dear Father comforted me as one whom his mother 
comforteth, and I know the meaning of His precious 
promises better by far than I had ever done before. 

It was in the spring of 1563 that Walter was sum- 
moned to London, on business. That same distant 
relation of Sir Edward Peckham’s who had inherited 
his property was dead, and had left Walter a consid- 
erable legacy, which his son was ready to pay over. 
Besides there were some difficulties about the estate 
which Walter’s testimony might help to settle, and 
Sir John was anxious to have him come at once to 
London. He was considerate enough to send a sum of 
money for expenses, and a couple of stout, well- 
mounted serving men for attendants on the road. 

Somehow, the whole scheme of the journey was 


322 


Loveday's History . 


distasteful to me — not for any reason that I could give, 
but because of a feeling I had that trouble would 
come of it ; and I would willingly have foregone the 
money to remain quietly and safely at home. My 
husband, on the contrary, was delighted with the 
prospect of seeing London once more, and mixing 
with the world of scholars and reformers. It was no 
more than natural, I am sure. He was a born scholar 
and divine, and he had been for a long time buried 
where he had little or no society of his own kind. 

“ But you will go with me,” he said, as we were 
talking it over. “ I must have you with me.” 

“ A fine showing that you can not go up to London 
without your wife,” said I, though my heart did give 
a great leap at the thought of seeing my old friends 
again. True, the Davis family no longer lived in 
London, having returned to the country, but my dear 
mistress lived there. The Duke of Suffolk had been 
dead some years, and her Grace was married again to 
a Mr. Batie, a gentleman of somewhat obscure fam- 
ily, but an admirable scholar and a very excellent man. 
It did seem strange to me that her Grace should take 
a second partner, but I do think her attachment to the 
Duke was rather that of an affectionate daughter to 
an indulgent father, than that of a wife to her hus- 
band. He had, as it were, brought her up, and he had 
married her very young, and before her heart had 
time to open. Never was happier wife, I am sure ; but 
still I do not think the Duke ever was to her what 
Mr. Batie was, or what my good man was to me. 

Besides my desire to see London, I could not but feel 
that Walter would be the better of me at his elbow. 
A wife may reverence her husband according to the 


The Great Storm . 


323 


Scripture, as I am sure I have ever done by mine, and 
yet be conscious of his little infirmities. I knew 
Walter would not be so likely to spend half his legacy 
in old manuscripts and new books, and the rest in 
buying finery for Katherine and myself, if I were at 
hand, nor would he forget half his engagements and 
remember the other half wrong if he had me to look 
over the pocket-book where he carefully set them down, 
and which he never looked at afterward. The great 
difficulty seemed to be how to dispose of Katherine. 
I did not like to leave her with Mary Thornton, whose 
temper did not mend with age, and who was always 
a little disposed to be jealous of the child. Any of the 
farmers’ dames about would have been glad of her ; but 
there were objections to that plan also. Just in the nick 
of time, however, my lady came forward and claimed 
Katherine for her own while we should be away. 
Kate would be invaluable to her, she was pleased to 
say, as a companion to herself and a teacher to the 
elder little girl. I knew my lady well enough to 
know that while she would be kind to the child she 
would not spoil her, and so it was agreed that Kath- 
erine should stay at Stantoun Court during our ab- 
sence. Little did we think how long that absence 
was like to be, or how many things were to happen 
before we saw the dear maiden again. 

At last the day of departure came, and we set out, 
taking Stantoun Court in our way, and leaving Kath- 
erine in her new home. My lady had given me a 
good horse for my own riding, an arrangement far 
more pleasant to me than being trussed up on a pil- 
lion. The two servants Sir John Peckham sent were 
staid, sober, middle-aged serving-men, real old-fash- 


324 


Loveday's History. 


ioned blue-coats, such as they tell me are going out of 
vogue now-a-days, when gentlemen must have their 
grooms, their footmen, pages and what not. The 
time was just past the middle of June. The weather 
was lovely and the roads as good as they ever are in 
England. We did not hurry, but traveled in the cool 
mornings and afternoons, stopping in the heat of the 
day at some country inn, or in some little town, two 
or three times with old friends of my husband’s set- 
tled in quiet country rectories. It was at one of these 
last named places that we heard a rumor of the 
young king’s rapidly declining health. “ Heaven 
help us ! ” said my husband. “ What will become of 
this land if he dies ? ” 

“ There may be better days in store for England 
than she hath ever yet seen ! ” answered our host, 
who was a dignified clergyman. “ My brother, from 
whom I have most of my news, tells me that there is 
a prospect of the Lady Jane Grey succeeding to the 
throne. She is, as every one says, a young lady of 
excellent parts and sweet disposition, and. loyal to the 
reformed faith to the bottom of her heart.” 

My husband shook his head. “ That may all be, but 
I do not believe she will ever w r ear the crown. King 
Edward’s will, whatever it may be — and I fancy no 
one knows that— will never set aside his father’s. 
Poor Lady Jane and her husband are but puppets in 
the hands of their ambitious relations.” 

“ Ay, and unwilling piqppets, some say,” answer- 
ed our host. “ Mine excellent friend, Master Roger 
Ascham, tells me that her liking is all for retirement 
and study, and that she would rather read a dialogue 
of Plato or a chapter in the Hebrew Scriptures than 
join in any gay pastime whatever.” 


The Great Storm . 


325 


“ Alas, poor young lady ! ” said I. “ And of what 
like is her husband ? ” 

“ A gracious youth enow, but not over and above 
wise, unless he be belied,” answered the archdeacon. 
“ Nevertheless, they are a most loving couple. But I 
can not but fear lest great trouble should arise. Per- 
haps a war of the succession, like those which have 
heretofore distracted this poor kingdom. I know 
well enough what will happen to you and me and our 
likes, Brother Corbet, if the Lady Mary come to the 
throne — and that will be to have our beards singed an’ 
we do not make up our minds to conform ! ” 

“ Think you so ? ” said my husband. “ Then will 
there be many singed beards in England.” 

“ Ay, but not so great a number as you think. I 
do believe more than half of those who have used the 
books of Common Prayer in this reign will burn 
them in the next, should it be their interest to do so. 
They are Papists at heart, and do but wait the occa- 
sion to throw off the mask ! ” 

“ Nay, I think you are uncharitable,” said my hus- 
band. 

“May be so. Mind, I say not all. There is old 
Latimer ; he is of your kind, and would be burned by 
inch pieces before he would do such a baseness ; and 
there are others like him.” 

“ And the Archbishop? ” 

“ I am not so very sure of the Archbishop,” said 
our host, slowly. “ He is a man who greatly fears 
the wrath of the king. I did never like his sending 
away his lawful wife to Holland so readily, because 
his late majesty took up against the married clergy. 
Courtiers are not the stuff to make martyrs. Never- 


326 Loveday's History . 

theless, if driven to the wall he might die as bravely 
as another.” 

The next day we met the news of the king’s death. 
(He had been dead two or three days, but they about 
him concealed the matter as long as they could for 
the better furtherance of their plans.) In one town 
we passed through they had already proclaimed Queen 
Jane, and the mob were rejoicing after their senseless 
fashion, glad of any event, good or bad, which gave 
them the chance of eating and drinking. But I 
could not but observe many sullen and discontented 
faces, and in one village we passed through we were 
hooted with, “ Shame on the married priest. Go on 
with thy leman, false priest, and see what awaits 
thee ! ” 

I must say my courage failed, and I prayed my 
husband to turn back, or at least seek some safe shel- 
ter till we should know how matters would turn. 
But Walter believed that his duty called him to go 
on, and when he began to talk about duty, I knew he 
had taken the bit between his teeth, and I might as 
well* be silent ; so I went forward, but with a heavy 
heart, and all the more because I had heard from the 
serving men, that their master was a devoted adher- 
ent of Queen Jane. I need not, however, have 
minded that. The Peckhams in general have a 
wonderful knack of turning up on the winning side 
just at the right moment. My old friend, Sir Ed- 
ward, was an exception to the rule ; one always knew 
where to find him — but in general they were a time- 
serving race, I must say. 

Well, we reached London at last, and went to a de- 
cent hostel close by Sir John’s town residence. I 


The Great Storm . 


327 


thought he might have asked us to his house, seeing 
we had come all that way on his errand, but he did 
not ; and as it turned out, it was just as well. All 
was in utter confusion at this time, for Queen Mary 
had been proclaimed in Norwich, and people were 
flocking to her standard every day. The Popish 
party raised their heads more and more, and I was 
fain to keep close within doors, for I could not go out 
with my husband without being insulted ; I did not 
even go to see my old mistress though my heart 
yearned toward her, finding myself so near. Walter 
would fain have finished the business that had 
brought him hither, but Sir John kept putting him 
off and putting him off, and he could hardly gain an 
audience. 

So matters dragged along with us till the nine- 
teenth of July, when the Queen Mary was proclaimed 
in Cheapside by some of the very men who had been 
most forward in the cause of poor Lady Jane. They 
did not save their own necks by thier baseness, that is 
one comfort. It was the very day after this procla- 
mation that Sir John sent for my husband. I went 
with him, understanding from the messenger that he 
desired to see me also, but this it seems was a mis- 
take. Nevertheless, I was glad I did, as it turned 
out. When we entered his presence, Sir John was 
sitting in his great chair, and near him was one whom 
I knew I had seen .before, though I could not tell 
where, but he seemed to bring my old life at Peck- 
ham Hall before me in a moment. Sir John made 
my husband a slight salutation, and me none at all. 
His lady was even less civil, for she turned away 
from me and exchanged a marked look of contempt 
and disgust with the priest. 


328 


Loveday's History . 


“ I have sent for you, Master Corbet, to tell you 
that I have no more need of your services,” said Sir 
John, curtly. “ This worthy priest, Father Barnaby, 
has given me all the information I need as to the 
matter of the legacy. I will attend to it. Father 
Simon is of opinion that my respected father was 
weak in mind when he made his will, and therefore it 
will not stand in law, but we will see — we will see,” 
he added pompously. “ You shall have justice done. 
But who is this woman you have brought with you ? ” 
he added, as though just then aware of my presence. 
“ Your sister?” 

“ My lawful and beloved wife, Sir John, as you 
very well know,” answered Walter, firmly, “ whom I 
brought up to London at your own written request, as 
thinking her early recollections might throw some 
light on the matter in hand.” 

Sir John did look a little confused, but Father 
Simon took up the cudgels for him. I knew all about 
him the moment I heard his name called. 

“ Your wife. I thought you were a priest. What 
do you with a wife ? ” 

“ The same as did St. Peter,” answered Walter. 
“ Take her with me on my journeys.” 

“ Blasphemy ! ” exclaimed my lady, with a shud- 
der. 

“And you, mistress — do I understand that you 
have the effrontery to call yourself a married woman, 
after having been the professed spouse of Christ?” 

“An apostate nun. Worse and worse,” said my 
lady. 

“Apostate I can not be, since I never was professed, 
as you, Sir Priest, very well know,” said I. “ As to 


The Great Storm . 


329 

the rest I am proud to call myself Walter Corbet’s 
wife, and the mother of his child.” 

“ You are ” said the priest, and he called me by 

a vile name I will not write here. Walter resembled 
some other very good-tempered people. He was like 
one of our long-horned Devon bulls, very quiet and 
even stolid to a certain point of provocation, after 
which it were best to get out of the way. Pie walked 
up to Father Simon, and with one sound cuff sent 
him sprawling and tumbling over my lady’s embroid- 
ery frame and into a basket holding a slut and a litter 
of puppies. It was an ill-judged blow ; I do not jus- 
tify him in it, and it had terrible consequences for us. 
The offended mother-dog seized Father Barnaby by 
the ear and bit him furiously, the pups meantime all 
yelling in concert — the lady squalled and Sir John 
swore, while a crowd of serving men rushing into the 
room, added to the confusion. How it all came about, 
I hardly know myself, but I presently found myself 
lying on the street, outside the door, my head sup- 
ported on the lap of a poor woman, who was fanning 
me with her apron. 

“ What has happened ? ” said I, starting up. 
“ Where is my husband ? ” 

“ Hush, hush, poor thing ! They will not let you 
go after him,” said the woman, and with that she fell 
a weeping. “ They have taken him to prison, and 
serve him right for a fool,” said a queer, cracked 
voice beside me. “ Only he does not know enough to 
let his folly make him a living, I would even give him 
my cap and bauble.” 

I looked uj) and saw a man in the garb of a fool, 
or jester, whom I had before remarked, in Sir John’s 
presence chamber. 


330 Loveday's History. 

“ Good fool,” said I, “tell me what they have done 
with my husband.” 

“ Nay, how can I tell ; I am hut a fool,” he answered, 
tossing up his bauble and catching it with many ex- 
travagant gestures; “but fool as I am, I ’know you 
should not sit here.” 

“ Harry speaks truth, madam, this is no place for 
you,” said one of the serving men who had come up 
with us from Devon. He helped me to my feet, and 
whispered in my ear : “ Go you to your lodging, and 
so soon as I can I will bring you news of your hus- 
band. This woman, who is mine own sister, will con- 
duct you thither.” 

There was no other counsel, so I went. Once alone 
I sat down and strove to collect my scattered thoughts. 
Walter had been carried to prison — that I was sure 
of — but where and how long was he like to stay 
there? I remembered all I had heard of Father 
Simon’s relentless character, and I felt that Walter’s 
chance was a slender one. “ Oh, had I but staid at 
home,” was my thought. “ Had we but kept quiet 
in Devon.” It seemed to me as though he had been pur- 
posely entrapped, but in that I believe I did Sir John 
injustice. It was no pre-conceived plan. Sir John 
had been for Queen Jane, when that unhappy lady 
seemed like to succeed, and now that she was over- 
thrown, he was willing to save himself and cover up 
his transgression by any means in his favor. 

Oh, what a distracted creature I was. I walked up 
and down till I was tired and then threw myself on 
the floor to walk again as my goading thoughts and 
fears would not let me be still. At last tears came to 
my relief and I could pray. 


The Great Storm . 


331 


It was dark when Ned Harris rapped at my door, 
accompanied by his sister, the old woman who had 
first taken pity on me. 

“ Well, madam, I bring you but cold comfort,” said 
he bluntly. “Your husband is in Newgate prison, 
and in evil case — so I hear from Harry, who learned 
the same from Sir John. Have you any friends in 
this place ? ” 

“ None that I can go to unless it be mine old mis- 
tress, the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk,” I answered, 
“ and I know not even where she lives or whether she 
is in town.” 

“ That we will find out. Meantime, you were best 
leave this place at once. My good sister here hath a 
lodging house, though a humble one, which she owes 
to her Grace’s goodness, and she will give you a 
shelter for the present.” 

“ That I will, that I will, dear madam,” said Dame 
Giles. “ You don’t remember me, and no wonder, 
but I mind you well, as you used to go on the water 
with her Grace. Yes, and you was once at my place 
to ask after the poor, foreign gentleman her Grace 
sent to lodge with me.” 

“But shall I not bring trouble upon you, good 
dame ? ” I asked. 

“ Never fear, madam. I fancy I am too small game 
for them at present. Do you come with me and I 
will make you as comfortable as my poor house will 
allow.” 

“ I care not for comfort, so I may be near my hus- 
band,” I answered. “ Oh, Harris, do but get me news 
of him, and I will bless you forever.” 

“ I will do what I can, but it will be no easy mat- 


332 


Loveday's History. 


ter,” said Harris. “ Have you money, madam, where- 
with to discharge your score ? ” 

“ It is paid,” I answered. “ My husband settled it 
this morning.” 

“ That is well. Then the sooner we are gone the 
better.” 

It was not long before I found myself in a small 
but clean little waterside inn, frequented, as it seemed 
by the better class of sailors. My room, though 
plain, was decent and retired, and I never left 
it. It was three or four days before Harris got news 
of "my husband, and bad news it was, when it came. 
Walter had been committed to Newgate, among the 
common rabble of rebels, and upon some trumped-up 
charge of rebellion. I asked if there were any chance 
of my seeing him. 

“ I fear not,” answered Harris, shaking his head. 
“And, mistress, I would not have you seen in the 
street. My master and yonder black priest — Heaven’s 
malison on him. and his like! — have made strict 
inquiry after you, and you would fare ill, did you 
once get into his hands. Have you ne’er a friend to 
whom you can turn ? ” 

“ I know of none unless it be my old mistress, the 
Dowager Duchess of Suffolk,” I answered, “ as I told 
you before.” 

“ Alas, poor lady, she is like enow to be in evil case 
herself. The Suffolk family are in bad odor. You 
were best make your way down to the west as soon as 
may be. Have you money ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered, “but I can not leave town so 
long as my husband’s fate is in suspense. How can 
I?” 


The Great Storm . 


333 


“ ’Tis a piteous case, mistress. I would I knew how 
to help you, for you have been mortal kind to me. 
Ah, well. Bide you still where you are, and we will 
see what can be done.” 

I don’t think I realized mine own condition or dan- 
ger at all. I thought only of one thing — to see my 
husband once more, and aid in his escape if possible. 
I lay awake all night, and in the very first gray of the 
dawn I stole out and found my way to the prison. I 
would at any rate see the walls which held my love. 
When I arrived under those frowning wails, I found 
two or three other women on the same errand as my- 
self. As I gazed at the barred windows, the desire to 
see my husband’s face once more overmastered every 
other consideration, and I began to sing a Dutch 
psalm, which we had used in our church at Amster- 
dam. The other women looked at me with surprise 
and pity in their faces. 

“ Poor thing, she is outlandish, too,” said one, for- 
getting for the moment her trouble in mine. “Is it 
your husband you seek, dame ? ” 

It went to my heart to refuse her sympathy, but I 
only pressed her hand, and shook my head in token 
that I did not understand. I ventured another verse 
of the psalm. Oh, joy ! Walter’s face appeared for 
a moment at a grated casement — pale, but serene as 
ever. I could not suppress a cry. 

“ Ah, poor thing, she sees her goodman,” said the 
kind woman who had spoken before. 

“Wait,” said Walter, and his face disappeared. 
Presently he came to the casement again, and threw 
something which fell at my feet. It was a paper 
wrapped round a stone, and I quickly picked it up 


§34 Loveday's History . 

and hid it in my bosom. I was not a minute too soon, 
for at that moment a wicket was opened and a surly 
voice bade us begone for a pack of idle jades. As 
the man spoke, a little maid of three or four sum- 
mers, slipped under his arm and ran toddling into the 
middle of the street. I saw what was coming, and 
sprang after her. A troop of horsemen w T ere gallop- 
ing recklessly down the street. I snatched her out of 
the way just in time, and threw her, as I may say, to 
her father, falling myself so near the horses that one 
of them stepped on and tore my gown. I was 
stunned and shaken with the force of my fall and 
could not rise for the moment. As I did so the turn- 
key, for such he was, came to my assistance. 

“ ’Twas a brave deed, and you are a brave wench,” 
said he. “ Come in now and rest. You have saved 
my child from those brutes who would ride over 
a living babe as soon as a dead cat. Come in, come 
in, and my dame shall get you a cool draught.” 

So there was a heart at any rate under that bull- 
dog face. I was only too glad to obey, for I trem- 
bled so I could hardly stand. The man set me a 
stool, and the wife, finding her child was not hurt, 
bestirred herself to get me some refreshment. Mean- 
time I implored the turnkey to let me see my hus- 
band, were it but for one moment. 

“ Who is your husband ? ” he asked. 

I told him. 

“ I dare not,” said he gruffly. “ ’Twere as much as 
my life is worth.” 

I fell a-weeping with that, for almost the first time 
since I parted from Walter. The turnkey’s wife 
pitied and poor-deared me, and then whispered eag- 


The Great Storm . 


335 


erly in her husband’s ear. He shook his head at first, 
hut seemed at last to relent. “ I would I were not a 
fool,” said he, gruffly. “ After all, you risked your 
life in the midst of your own trouble to save the little 
wench who was naught to you — well, come along — I 
will give you five minutes, but I must be within hear- 
ing — come along.” 

I did not say a word for fear he might change his 
mind, but followed him through grim passages till he 
came to a door which he unlocked with a clash of 
keys which seemed to hurt my ears. 

“ Here, Master Parson, here is some one to speak to 
you ; but be short. Come, you here.” 

I gathered together my scattered senses, and held 
them, as it were, tightly with both hands. I saw, as 
a dream, figures lying stretched out or walking list- 
lessly to and fro. I saw one disengage himself from 
the crowd and come toward me, and in a moment I 
was in my husband’s arms. 

“But what is this?” said he, touching my fore- 
head, which had been cut and bruised by the fall. 

“Nothing,” said I, hastily. “Waste no time on 
me. Tell me what I can do for you.” 

“ Naught in the world, dear heart, but pray for me 
and take care of yourself. Come not here again — 
they will set a trap for you. Go to her Grace of Suf- 
folk. She will shelter you for old sake’s sake, and 
her husband is a wise gentleman, and will tell you if 
there is aught possible for me. If you ever loved 
your husband, dear heart, obey now what may be 
his last command. You have ever been a dutiful 
wife.” 

“I will. I will,” I answered, though the words 


336 


Loveday's History . 


seemed to choke me. Other things we said, too sa- 
cred to write here, and then the parting time came. 
I gave my husband what money I had about me, and 
the little Latin Psalter I had been accustomed to 
carry in my pocket ever since I left Dartford. Then 
we bade farewell. I must not dwell on the anguish 
of that hour. 

The turnkey and his wife detained me when I 
would have gone forth. The good woman — for good 
she was, I am sure, though rude and rough in man- 
ner — arranged my dress and made me decent again. 

“ Now, an’ you will, you shall go out with me to 
the market, and then you can easily find your way 
home,” said she. 

I felt the kindness under the rough exterior, and 
still, as it were, holding my senses together by main 
force, I followed the turnkey’s wife to the market, 
feeling all the time like one in a bad dream. Pres- 
ently a decent old serving-man ran against me, 

“I crave pardon,” said a familiar voice, hastily, 
and then in a tone of utmost wonder : “ Can it be — 
surely it is Mistress Loveday, who used to wait upon 
my lady.” 

I looked at him in surprise, and recognized John 
Symonds. 

“ But how came you here, in such a plight and in 
such company ? ” he asked, in a tone which it was 
perhaps as well the dame did not hear. 

“ It is a long story,” said I ; “ but, John, will my 
mistress see me, think you? I am in deep trouble, 
and not a friend to help me.” 

“ I dare be sworn she will,” he answered. “ But 
where are you staying ? ” 


337 


The Great Storm . 


I told him. 

“ Ay, I know the place. Well, Mistress Corbet, I 
will come to see you after nightfull. The sun does 
not shine on our side of the hedge any more than on 
yours, but my lady is not any lady if she find not 
some way to help you.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE WANDERERS, 

WAS utterly worn out when I reached Dame 
Giles’s little hostel. She had never missed 
me it seemed, and I slipped quietly into 
mine own room. I felt that I had not one atom of 
endurance left, and throwing myself on the bed, I fell, 
I suppose, into a deep sleep, from which I did not 
wake till noon. Then I arose, bathed my face, and 
put myself into decent trim. As I was mending my 
tattered gown, Dame Giles entered the room. I made 
her sit down by me, and told her where I had been. 
She shook her head disapprovingly. 

“ ’Twas a great risk, and yet I can not blame you,” 
said she ; “ but how did you bruise your face so 
sadly?” 

I told her my adventure with the child. 

“ ’Twas a great deal to do for a child no ways akin 
to you,” said she ; “ but I dare to say you never 
thought of that.” 

“ No, indeed ! ” I answered. “ Since mine own 
babe was given me, I feel that all children are akin to 
me, for her sweet sake. But now that I am decent 
once more, I will finish your rufile while I have time, 




The Wanderers . 


339 


since one can not tell from one hour to another what 
will happen, or would you rather I made some more 
cakes, that you may be sure you understand the con- 
fection ? ” For I had learned in Holland to make 
certain light sweet-cakes, which, boiled in hot lard, 
were both toothsome and wholesome, and I had been 
practicing my skill for the benefit of the good woman, 
my hostess. 

Dame Giles looked at me in wonder, and indeed I 
could not but wonder at myself. I seemed somehow 
so strangely held up above my sorrow and care. The 
bewilderment of my senses was all gone — I could 
think calmly as ever in my life, and I was conscious 
of a kind of calmness and serenity — of a trust in my 
Heavenly Father, and a confidence in His mercy such 
as I had never felt before, and which came not from 
myself, I am sure. I was able, while giving due at- 
tention to what I was about, to look beyond all 
earthly things, and by faith to behold that shore 
where are no more griefs, neither sorrow nor crying, 
because the former things are passed away. I knew 
that I had seen my husband probably for the last 
time on earth, unless I were allowed one last embrace 
when he was led forth to the stake or the gallows, but 
I felt that I could even give him up if called to do so, 
knowing that our parting would be but for a time. 
It is, I believe, only in circumstances of great trial 
that this state of mind comes to pass. It is the 
Lamb’s mystical gift to His own — the white stone 
wherein is a name written which no one knows but he 
who receives it. 

That night, after dark, John Symonds came to con- 
duct me to his mistress’s presence. I learned, during 


340 Loveday's History. 

the walk, that he had followed his lady’s fortunes in 
her second marriage, and that Mistress Curtis was 
still my lady’s manager and housekeeper, though 
growing old. My mistress received me with more 
than her old kindness. She was lovely as ever, and 
even more so, for her face had gained in expression 
and in thought. She presented me to her husband, a 
fine-looking, sober gentleman he was no doubt, and 
as good as the day was long. But how she could 
ever take him into the Duke’s place — however, that 
was no business of mine. I am sure he was ever most 
kind to me, and I should be an ingrate not to own 
what I owe to him. 

“ Mistress Corbet is come in good time, my love, 
since you needed a waiting gentlewoman,” said he. 
“ You will be better pleased with her than with a 
stranger, specially in these troublous times when one 
knows not whom to trust.” 

“ But the poor thing is in great trouble about her 
husband, Mr. Batie,” said my mistress. “ Can we do 
nothing for her ?” 

“We will consider of that.” So saying, Mr. Batie 
would have me sit down and tell him the whole story. 
He shook his head when I had finished. 

“ ’Tis a sad case, and I know not what to do,” said 
he. “ I know Sir John well.” 

“Ay, he would betray his best friend for a groat, 
and sell his own soul for a rose noble ! ” said my 
mistress. “ I dare say it was all a made up plot to 
get out of the payment of your husband’s legacy. It 
would be like him.” 

Mr. Batie looked a little shocked at this sally. It 
was plain my mistress was not greatly changed, after 
all. 


The Wanderers. 


341 


“We are in evil case, and may have to fly any 
day,” said Mr. Batie. “ Gardiner is great at court 
once more, and he hath — I know not why — a venem- 
ous hatred to my wife.” 

I could well guess why, knowing how she used to 
laugh at him. 

“ But you shall have a shelter while we have one 
ourselves,” continued Mr. Batie, quickly, “ and I will 
inquire about your husband, and befriend him if pos- 
sible, that you may be sure.” 

But, alas, it was not possible, nor could I ever suc- 
ceed in hearing from him again. I remained in at- 
tendance upon my mistress, who was as kind and 
considerate as any one could be. All the change in 
her was for the better. The death of her husband 
and her two little sons, had brought her to think more 
seriously than she used, and made real to her the 
things which were unseen and eternal. We used to 
take sweet counsel together over the Scriptures I read 
to her. (Already the English Bible was a proscribed 
book, and the Prayer Book declared an abomination.) 
I could see plainly that while she was ready, if she 
could, to flee from persecution, as indeed she had 
Scripture warrant, she would, if need were, die at the 
stake as bravely as Mistress Askew herself. 

I had been with my mistress in her house at 
Barbican some two weeks. The weather was very 
hot, and we began to hear of fevers among the pris- 
oners in the crowded jails, but I could not learn that 
there had been any cases in Newgate. One evening, 
however, John Symonds called me aside as I was 
passing through the hall, and told me there was one 
to speak with me from the prison, who had a token 


342 


Lov eddy's History . 


from my husband. There was a strange sound of 
pity in his voice as I now remember, but I did not 
think of it at the time. I followed him eagerly to a 
little room on the ground floor, and there sat the turn- 
key’s wife, whose child I had saved. She spoke not a 
word, but with tears running down her rough face, 
she held out to me a little book. Mechanically I took 
and opened it. It was my own little Latin Psalter, 
which I had given to Walter at our sad parting in the 
prison. On the fly leaf was traced with a trembling 
hand, “ Farewell, dear heart, to meet above.” 

“They have killed him then,” said I, as calmly as 
though speaking of an indifferent person. 

“ Nay, madam ; ’twas the fever. He gave me that 
token for you, and I promised to put it into your own 
hand.” 

“ When ? ” I asked. 

“ Only to-day.” 

I heard no more, for sight and sense failed me, and 
when they carried me to my room, they thought I had 
gone to join my husband. 

I was like one turned to stone for a few days, un- 
able to think, almost to feel, and only saying to my- 
self again and again, “ My husband is dead. My 
husband is dead.” I know not how long this state 
lasted, but it was Mistress Curtis who roused me from 
it. She came to my room, and sitting down by my 
side, she took my hand, saying in her crisp, kindly, 
imperative tone : 

“ Loveday, listen to me. Will you help to save 
your mistress from the fate of your husband ? ” 

The words penetrated to my benumbed brain, and 
found an answer there. I turned my face inquiringly 


The Wanderers . 


343 


toward her. She repeated her question, with a dif- 
ference. 

“ Will you risk your life to save your mistress from 
the fate of your husband ? ” 

“Yes!” I answered, rousing myself all at once. 
“ What is life to me ? ” 

“ A means whereby you may serve God and his 
church,” answered Mistress Curtis, solemnly. “Can 
you collect your wits and listen to me ? ” 

I felt once more come over me that strange feeling 
of peace and strength wfflich had been given me be- 
fore. “ I w T ill do any thing for my mistress,” I said. 

“Then listen. You know Gardiner is our lady’s 
implacable enemy. Already he threatens her with a 
strict examination, which can have but one end, for 
she will never deny her faith. Master Batie hath 
already gone abroad, leaving us instructions what to 
do. This very night, if at all, my lady must make 
her escape to meet her husband, at a little town in the 
Dutchy of Cleves. You can be of the greatest use to 
us, as you can speak both Dutch and Latin, and per- 
haps, French also — ” 

“Yes,” I answered. tl I can speak French well, 
and can make a shift to express myself in Spanish, if 
need.” (So I could, for having always a fancy for 
learning languages, I had picked up a little Spanish 
from a lady in Rotterdam.) “ I see wfflat you would 
have, and I am ready. Whom does my mistress take 
in her company ? ” 

“Why, our two selves and John Symonds. Then 
we may depend upon you, my dear, faithful, afflicted 
child ?” 

“Yes,” I answered. “I have no more place in 


344 Loveday's History. 

these parts,” and with that I fell a-weeping, and my 
kind friend wept with me. We could not indulge our 
tears very long, however. There was too much to be 
done. My lady nrofessed to be ill at ease, and kept 
her chamber, and Mistress Curtis threw out vague 
hints of the sweating sickness, and kept all the maids 
at a distance. All that day I worked busily enough, 
packing my lady’s most portable jewels in the smallest 
compass, and curiously reminded of the time when 1 
prepared mine own for the flight to the old hall. I 
carried only bare necessary clothes for myself, besides 
my Bible and Psalter, and a little book of prayers, 
which had been Walter’s. 

There was some grand show going on, I forget what 
it was, but something connected with the new queen’s 
doings. Already the mass was being sung every 
where. Gardiner and his companions were high in 
court favor, and poor Archbishop Cranmer, to whose 
gentle intercessions with her father, the queen had 
owed her life, was disgraced and confined. The Popish 
party now held their heads high, ay, and the highest 
were those who had made the greatest show of con- 
forming in King Edward’s days, and been the most 
ready to truckle to the humors of King Henry. Such 
was Gardiner himself, who made himself so con- 
spicuous in putting down the religious houses, and his 
bulldog, Bonner. 

As I said, there was a great show, and all the serv- 
ants had leave to go and see it, save two or three 
whom we could trust. As soon as it was dark and all 
the house deserted, we put on our mantles and muf- 
flers, and slipping out of the back entrance, hastened 
down to the river, where John Symonds had a boat in 


The Wanderers . 


345 


waiting. It was a dark night* and somewhat rough, 
which was all the better for our purpose. Luckily we 
were all good sailors. We dropped down the river 
with the tide, and the morning found us at Gravesend, 
whence we purposed to embark. We staid there in 
great retirement and great anxiety for some days, 
lodging with the wife of our vessel’s master, a woman 
of great goodness and charity, who gave us the best 
her house afforded. I don’t think my mistress minded 
roughing it in the least — not half as much as Mistress 
Curtis did for her. It was an anxious time, for though 
my mistress was well, she was just in that state of 
health when one never knows what wifi happen next, 
and as for any prudence in taking care of herself, it 
was not in her. She was as pleased as a child with 
seeing a way of life so unlike what she was used to. 
She was never tired of playing with the children, and 
must needs take the broom in her hand to see what 
sweeping was like, and so on, till Mistress Curtis lost 
patience and scolded her roundly, telling her that she 
was risking all our lives as well as her own, and bring- 
ing our kind hostess into danger. She pouted a little, 
but her own sweet nature soon got the upper hand, 
and she confessed that Curtis was right, and promised 
amendment. As for myself, all plans were alike to 
me. I knew my dear .Katherine was safe in good 
hands. I had no ties — no, not even my husband’s 
grave, for no one knew where he was buried, and my 
only thought now was when I should rejoin him, and 
meantime how I could best serve my dear mistress. 

Well, the vessel came at last, and we embarked for 
Rotterdam, from which place we were to make our 
way as quickly as might be to Saulin, a little retired 


346 


Loveday's History . 


town in the Dutcliy of Cleves, where Master Batie 
had appointed to meet us. I do think I am a very 
Jonah on shipboard. Never but once did I cross the 
seas without meeting a storm. We had a tremendous 
one this time, and our master was obliged to put back 
and take shelter for a day or two at Harwich. Our 
quarters were wretched enough, especially as our 
hatches were fastened down half the time. Mistress 
Curtis was sick in her berth almost all the way, though 
she called herself a good sailor, and old John Symonds 
was not much better, but my mistress was well and 
cheerful, making nothing of all the inconveniences of 
our situation, and waiting on herself when I had 
my hands full with poor Mistress Curtis, who was sure 
she was going to die, and wept the next moment be- 
cause her lady’s meal was served in a cracked yellow 
pudding basin, without so much as a napkin. Never 
was a better woman, or one more great in emergency ; 
but she was lady in waiting to the backbone, and cere- 
mony and form had become as her life-blood. She 
felt a great deal worse than the Duchess, who indeed 
did not care at all. 

We reached Rotterdam at last, a dirty, weary, 
draggled set. I was glad that, according to Master 
Batie’s orders, we were to make no stay there, but to 
push on at once to our destination. I dreaded seeing 
the place where I had been so happy, and, above all, 
I could not endure that any one should speak to me 
about Walter. ’Twas a morbid, unhealthy state of 
mind, no doubt, and I got over it after a time. 

We pushed on by boat as far as we could, and then 
by wagon and on horseback, and sometimes on foot, 
till we reached the city of Cleves. The very first per- 


The Wanderers . 


347 


son we saw in the twilight, as we came to the city 
gate, was Master Batie himself. He had come that 
far to meet us, and had provided lodgings for us in a 
decent little inn just without the gate. No sooner did 
my mistress reach this place of rest and safety than 
she broke down utterly, and went into a fit of the 
mother, which frightened even Mistress Curtis. It 
was well I could speak Dutch, for the mistress of the 
house was a Holland woman, and not a little scared at 
the condition of her guest. 

“ Is your lady gone mad, think you ? ” she asked of 
me. 

“Not so,” I answered. “She is but tired and over- 
wrought, and the joy of seeing her husband unex- 
pectedly was too much for her. You can see yourself 
that she is in no fit state to travel. She will be better 
directly.” % 

“ I hope so,” said she, with a troubled face. “ I fear 
lest she may bring the priest down on us ; they look 
so keenly after every case of sickness — the vultures 
that they are. Alack, what have I said.” 

“ The truth,” said I, bitterly. “ Vultures, and kites, 
and ravening wolves, if you will.” 

The hostess looked relieved. 

“ One never knows to whom one is speaking in 
these days,” said she ; “ but I would the lady were 
quiet.” 

I made my way into the room, where Mistress Cur- 
tis was fussing over my lady, and Master Batie was 
like one distracted, as men always are at such times. 

I saw something was needed beside pity. 

“Madam, listen to me,” said I. “ You are putting 
us all in peril by giving way and crying out so. The 


348 


Loveday's History. 


hostess fears lest your screams should bring us un- 
welcome visitors. Drink this.” 

She pulled herself up directly, and drank the little 
glass of strong spirit and water I held to her lips. It 
was what we call schnapps in Holland, and the flavor 
is detestable enough to bring a dead man to life if lie 
could but taste it. 

“ Horrible,” said she, making a face like a child tak- 
ing medicine. “ There, I will be good. Forgive me, 
dear Loveday. Every one is not so strong as you 
are.” 

“ There, now, you are quite yourself,” said I, “and 
you will be better still when you have had your sup- 
per. Shall I order it, Master Batie ? ” 

“ If you will,” he answered, looking immensely re- 
lieved, for he could not speak either Dutch or French, 
and his Latin was not of much use here. So I went 
out and took counsel with the landlady, who was a 
neat, clever housewife from Middleburg. She was 
ready to run her feet off when she found I had been 
there, and knew some of her friends, at least byname. 
She got us the best her house afforded. Mistress Cur- 
tis made a sad face at the soup, but she liked the 
bread and the rich milk, and thick cream, and the 
golden butter, so sweet and hard as I think no one 
but a Dutch woman can make it. My mistress was 
quite herself again, laughing as she told her husband 
of all the odd mischances of our voyage. But she 
was ever light-hearted in our greatest straits. 

“ And now are we safe, I trust,” said she. “I long 
to be at rest, even if only for the sake of these faith- 
ful women and honest John Symonds.” 

“Nay, trouble not for me, madam ; I shall do well 


The Wanderers . 


349 


enough any where,” said old John, as she turned to 
him. “ Only I marvel why these people can not speak 
like Christians, so a man could understand them.” 

My lady laughed, while Master Batie said, in his 
grave way : “Nay, John, there are many good Chris- 
tians in the world who do not speak English. As to 
our being in safety, I hope we are so at least for the 
present. We will go to-morrow to Saulin, a small 
town, where I have hired a house with its furniture, 
and where we may, I trust, find a refuge till this 
tyranny be overpast. But it will behoove us to live 
quiet and retired, and to be very prudent.” 

“Perhaps, then, it is as well for us that nobody but 
Loveday can speak Dutch,” observed my mistress. 
“As for me, I can read French well enough, but my 
accent is incurably English.” 

Well, we removed to Saulin next day, and took up 
our abode in our own hired house — not a spacious one 
by any means, but neat and comfortable. It was an 
odd little town, once a place of some importance, but 
old and decaying. There were no English in the 
place but ourselves, and one other family — that of a 
gentleman named Giggs, who had fled from England 
on some political ground, and had lived in this place 
ever since. The wife and daughter were well enough 
— sober, plodding women, much given to fine spinning 
and embroidery — just the women who will sit stitch- 
ing at a counterpane or hanging, from year’s end to 
year’s end, with no more change than from blue silk to 
red cloth, or from the history of King Arthur to 
Moses in the bulrushes. Withal they were kindly 
souls, and would even neglect their beloved tapestry 
to help some poor woman in trouble. But the husband 


350 


Loveday's History . 


I liked not at all. He was a busybody in other men’s 
matters — rwith a mighty conceit of his own knowl- 
edge of state craft, as he called it — in short, just 
the man to be made a spy and a pump of, all 
the time he was fancying himself as secret as the 
grave. Of course he was bound to find out all about 
us. He tried in vain to pump John Symonds, who 
was always afflicted with deafness when it did not 
suit him to hear, and whose tongue was not to be un- 
locked even by beer. Then he tried Mr. Batie him- 
self, but he might as well have tried to extract a secret 
from the crypt of St. Peter’s at Rome. At last he 
took himself off, on some secret mission, he said, and 
we were glad to be rid of him. But we were not 
done with him yet. 

The time went on to November, and we were fallen 
into a very quiet, orderly way of living, as, indeed, 
every thing was orderly where Mr. Batie was. He 
was a wonderful grave, staid man, loving all sorts 
of head-breaking, mathematical studies, and caring 
little or nothing for the music and poetry which his 
wife loved. I never saw a man so slow to take a joke, 
or one who enjoyed it more when he did understand 
it. But he was a pleasant gentleman to live with. 
His temper was perfect, and he was faithfulness itself. 
If Mr. Batie promised to do a thing, ’twas as sure to 
be done as the sun to rise, unless something made 
the fulfillment downright impossible. He always did 
seem to me a little like a schoolmaster, he was so fond 
of setting one right and giving little bits of informa- 
tion. All the poetry and enthusiasm in him was 
bestowed his religion. I never saw one, not even 
my Walter, to whom the other world seemed at all 


The Wanderers. 


351 


times so near, and when he read a story in the Bible 
and commented thereon, he made you see the very 
place and people. He had been in the Holy Land, 
where, I suppose, things have not changed a great 
deal since our Lord’s time, and when he told us of 
Bethlehem and of Nazareth, he fairly carried us into 
the carpenter’s shop and the stable. 

’Twas he who first won me to talk of my husband, 
by telling me how he had met him at Suffolk house. 
It was a great relief, once I brought my mind to it, 
and his wise, gentle counsels and prayers did a great 
deal toward dispelling the dull cloud which seemed 
to settle down upon me after the immediate need for 
action was past. I found comfort once more in devo- 
tion, and began to take up some of my old pursuits. 
My dear lady liked me to read and sing to her, and 
she needed something to divert her, for she was far 
from well. Mistress Giggs’ youngest daughter, 
Amy, had fallen into a rapid consumption — a waste, 
as we call it in these parts. Her mother, though she 
loved the child tenderly, was no great things of a 
nurse, and poor little Amy liked me about her. My 
mistress, ever self-forgetful, would have me do w T hat I 
could for the child, and Mr. Batie often visited and 
prayed by her. The women were of the Reformed 
persuasion. As for Mr. Giggs, his religion varied 
with the company he kept. 

It was now the end of November, and we were 
looking for my lady’s trial to come on any day. The 
nights were long and dark, and the ground was cov- 
ered with snow, but it was not very cold. Mr. Batie 
had been away for a few days, and we were anxious 
for his return. Mr. Giggs had come home and had 


352 


Loveday's History . 


been to see us that very afternoon to tell us how he 
had been made much of at the court of the Prince 
Bishop of Cleves ; it would be hard to tell whether 
the man were more unfit for a prince or a bishop. In 
his vanity he let out perhaps more than he meant, as 
he told us how intimate he had been with the bishop’s 
chief -councilor, a Dominican priest, and what fair 
promises had been made him of places at court, and 
how he should be able to serve Mr. Batie. 

“ What a popinjay the man is ! ” said Mistress Cur- 
tis, when he was gone. 

“ I hope he is no worse,” said I. It had fallen to 
our lot to entertain him as usual, my mistress being 
ill at ease, and having besides a great dislike to him. 
“ I hope he is not the pilot fish I have heard the mar- 
iners tell of, which guides the shark to its prey.” 

“What can you mean?” asked Mistress Curtis. 
Before I had time to answer the door opened quickly, 
and Bessy Giggs came in. 

“ Has Mr. Batie come home ? ” she asked, without 
any preface, and with none of her usual shyness. 

“ l^Tot yet ? ” answered Mistress Curtis. 

“ What is it, Bessy?” I asked. “What has hap- 
pened ? Is Amy worse ? ” 

“ Yes — no. It is not that ! ” she answered. “ Oh, 
I would Mr. Batie were at home.” 

“ Here I am ! ” said Mr. Batie’s calm voice, as he 
entered in his usual quiet way. “ What is it, 
Bessy ? ” 

“ I know not if it is any thing ! ” she answered ; 
“ but — My father has been at court, in the hands 
of the bishop’s confessor, and a man has come back 
with him whose looks I like not. You know my 


The Wanderers. 


353 


father. He thinks he is so secret, and a child can 
make him tell all he knows and more.” 

“ Ay, I understand ! ” said Mr. Batie, composedly. 
“I had wind of this before. Go home, my child, and 
give no hint of having been here. I know you can 
be discreet.” 

Bessy went away looking greatly relieved, for she 
had unbounded faith in Mr. Batie’s wisdom. 

“ My life for hers ! ” I answered. “ Bessy is not 
bright, but she is good all through.” 

“ Give me goodness before brightness, and faith be- 
fore all things,” said Mr. Batie. (N. B. He would 
have stopped to make a moral if he had seen a tiger 
just ready to spring on him.) Curtis, how is your 
mistress ? ” 

“ Well as one can expect, sir, all things considered,” 
answered Mistress Curtis. “ She went to her room, 
but I think it was but to avoid Mr. Giggs.” 

“Ay, we must avoid him to purpose,” said Mr. 
Batie. “The chattering magpie hath brought the 
bishop’s confessor down upon us. His Grace being 
taken with a great zeal for the purity of religion in 
his diocese, is determined that all who will not con- 
form must suffer the penalty, and all English fugi- 
tives are the special objects of his wrath, out of 
compliment to our gracious queen’s consort, Philip of 
Spain, I presume.” 

“ Philip of Spain ! ” I exclaimed. “ Hath she really 
married King Philip? Well, if the English bear that ! ” 

“ I begin to think the English will bear any thing, so 
they have beer enow ! ” said Master Batie bitterly. 
“ But we must waste no time talking politics ; we 
must make our escape to Wesel this very night.” 


354 


Loveday's History. 


“ Impossible, sir ! ” exclaimed Mistress Curtis. 
“ Think of my mistress and her condition. How 
would she bear the shaking of a litter or a horse?” 

“ She will not have to bear them ! ” answered Mr. 
Batie, more curtly than was his wont. “ I dare not 
risk the hiring of either. We must set out as soon as 
it is fairly dark, and make our way on foot to 
Wesel.” 

Mrs. Curtis looked at him as if she thought him mad. 
“ On foot and to-night ! ” she repeated. “ My lady 
will perish in the snow.” 

“ Better the snow and the sky than the rack and 
flame ! ” answered Mr. Batie. “ Loveday have you 
your wits about you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir !” I answered. 

“Then listen, both of you. We must have our sup- 
per as usual, and keep up our fire and lights. Then 
at eight o’clock when all is still, we must steal 
out as quietly as possible by the back garden-gate 
and make the best of our way to Wesel. The gate- 
keeper is my friend and will allow us to go forth. I 
do not think our enemies will make any move before 
morning, and by that time we shall be out of their 
reach. Hasten and have all needful things ready, 
but make no bustle. Where is Annette ? ” 

“ Gone to her sister’s wedding, by good luck.” 

“ So much the better, though you should not call it 
hide” said Mr. Batie. I had much to do not to laugh. 
“ I will myself prepare your mistress. Ah, here she 
comes. My sweet life, I have heavy news for 
you.” 

My mistress took the news very coolly. Indeed, she 
was not half as much excited as Mistress Curtis, 


The Wanderers. 355 

and laughed at her fears that the walk would hurt 
her. 

“ But shall we be safe in Wesel?” 

“ Yes, I think so. ’Tis one of the Hanse League 
towns, wholly independent of his spiritual lordship, 
and the sturdy burghers like him not well enough to 
do him a pleasure by giving a fugitive to his clutches. 
I would we had gone there at first.” 

“ You acted for the best, my love ! ” said my mis- 
tress. “ Come, Curtis, don’t stand there like the fig- 
ure of woe in the pageant, but bestir yourself to 
get things together for our march. We are all in God’s 
hands, and let Him do what He will it will be best.” 

Mr. Batie forgot himself for once. He caught his 
wife in his arms, kissing her, weeping over her, and 
calling her his suffering angel, his poor hunted dar- 
ling. He was all himself in a moment, and looked a 
little ashamed, but I liked him all the better. 

Well, Mistress Curtis set herself to pack up what 
was most needed, and I to getting supper, for as I said 
our only maid was away at some family festival. I took 
occasion to be seen going in and out, about the supper. 
I even made an errand to a neighboring shop where 
we often bought provisions, and finding some good 
butter, I bought enough to last a week. John Sy- 
mond was to stay behind till early morning and then 
join us. All the time I was. busy I kept saying 
to myself. “ Wesel, Wesel, what do I know about 
Wesel?” I don’t think my head had ever been quite 
right since my great shock, and my memory played 
me sad tricks. 

We sat down to supper for the last time in our snug 
little house. Every body there closes shutters at 


356 Loveday's History . 

dusk, which was lucky for us. Mistress Curtis’s eyes 
were red with weeping, but my mistress was calm 
and cheerful as a summer morning ; and she took 
her supper with a good appetite. Mr. Batie looked 
a man who was holding himself with all his force, and 
as for me, I can only say that all my strength was bent 
to the determination of serving my mistress and saving 
her if possible. We had prayers after supper, and in all 
my life I never heard any one pray like Mr. Batie. 
He put new life and courage into us all, and into him- 
self, too, for when he rose his face had lost its set, hard 
look, and was calm and pleasant as ever. 

When the little Dutch time-piece in the corner 
struck eight we prepared to be gone. The night was 
as black as any night can be when there is snow on 
the ground, which was all the better for us, of course. 
We went down the little garden and out at the back 
gate. The keeper of the town-gate let us pass 
without a question, wishing us God speed, and then 
began our trial. 

Oh, what a miserable walk that was. The ground 
was only half-frozen, and the road was rough and 
miry, for we dared not take the well-traveled high- 
way. A half-melted snow was falling, which blew in 
our faces, and clung to our garments. Mr. Batie 
w r ent first, with his wife leaning on him, and Mistress 
Curtis and I followed, carrying each a bundle, and 
supporting each other as best we could. The dear 
woman was growing old and not so strong as she had 
been. 

“To think of the Duchess of Suffolk in such a 
plight,” she sighed. “Wandering in the snow like a 
gipsy wife. What would the Duke say to see her 


The Wanderers . 


357 


creeping along in this dark night with no one to lean 
on but Mr. Batie ? ” 

I could hardly help laughing. 

“ And this lonely road, too ! ” she continued. 
“ Heaven send, we meet no foot- pads ! ” 

“ Heaven send, we meet nothing worse,” I thought, 
for our road skirted a bit of the prince-bishop’s forest, 
and I knew the wolves were very bold at times. I 
listened with all my ears, and almost thought I heard 
their long-drawn howls in the depths of the wood, but 
I believe, after all, it w T as only the wind among the 
trees. My mistress never made a complaint, and 
looked back from time to time to say a word of en- 
couragement. It was but four miles, but it seemed 
like a dozen leagues. We met not a single soul on 
the road, and when we reached the city gate, the 
lights were all out in the town, though it was not 
midnight. Mr. Batie knocked at a little side gate, 
and said a few words in Latin. The wicket was 
opened, and we found ourselves within the friendly 
walls of the free Hanse town. A few steps more 
brought us to a great old church with a deep porch, 
wherein were wide benches. The sky had now cleared, 
and the waning moon showed us every thing clearly. 
My mistress had not said a word for half an hour, 
but now she spoke. 

“ Let us stop here, my dearest love ; I fear I can 
not walk a step further.” 

There was mute suffering in her voice, and I guessed 
in a minute what was coming, but I don’t believe it 
ever came into Mr. Batie’s head. Men are so stupid, 
with all their learning. 

“ It is so cold ! ” said he, hesitating. “ Had you 
not better ” 


358 


Loveday's History . 


“ No, no, let her rest ! ” said I, and seeing he did 
not yet understand, I whispered something in his ear, 
and added : “ Hasten and find us shelter as quickly as 
you can.” 

It was not so easily done. All the houses were 
closed, even the inns, and he could make nobody hear. 
Indeed, a German landlord, once he hath closed his 
house for the night, will not open to a prince of the 
blood. He hurried from street to street, growing 
fairly distracted with anxiety. At last he came across 
a knot of students, who were disputing violently in 
Latin. He appealed to them at once. 

“ For the love of Heaven and your own mothers, 
gentlemen, tell me where I can find help for a lady in 
extremity ! ” 

They looked at each other, and were inclined to 
make a joke of the matter at first, hut seeing his dis- 
tress to he real, the kind-hearted lads consulted to- 
gether. 

“ There is a pastor near by who hath been in En- 
gland I know,” said one ; “ I will guide you to his 
house, sir, and no doubt you will find the help you 
need for your poor lady.” 

Meantime, Mistress Curtis and I had pulled off our 
cloaks and made the best couch we could for our 
suffering lady, who, while her voice was sharpened by 
the mortal anguish of a woman’s supreme trial, still 
spoke words of cheer and comfort ; and there, on that 
dark November night, in the cold church porch, was 
born he who is now one of the queen’s bravest and 
best soldiers and servants, Peregrine, Lord Willowby. 

All was over, and the babe wrapped in my flannel 
petticoat, roaring for dear life, when Mr. Batie came 


The Wanderers. 


359 


back with a man in a pastor’s dress, and two others, 
bearing a litter of some sort. As the light he held 
flashed on the pastor’s face, I knew I had seen him 
before, but where I could not tell. In a little time 
my mistress was put to bed in a comfortable, clean 
room. A kind, pleasant, and motherly woman was 
bustling about, providing us with dry clothes and hot 
soup ; and her pretty married daughter was dressing 
the babe in some of her own child’s clothes, for the 
bundle of baby linen Mistress Curtis brought, had 
been somehow lost on the way. 

“You take too much trouble for us, dear ihadam,” 
said I, as the good, kind woman brought in some new 
delicacy to tempt us. 

“ Nay, my dear, that I can never do,” said she, 
showing her beautiful teeth in a smile. “My husband 
was once saved from death by starvation in the streets 
of London, by some kind English ladies. Oh, I would 
do any thing for the English ! ” 

“Now I know,” I exclaimed; “ your husband is that 
same Walloon pastor whom my mistress saved from 
the hands of the boatmen on the river. I thought I 
had seen him before.” 

If the good people had been hospitable before, 
judge what they were now. The best of every thing 
was not good enough for us. The pastor recognized 
me at once, and told his family how I had been the 
first to understand him, and taken his part, and how 
my mistress had helped him, not only with food and 
money, but with kind words and true sympathy. At 
last, Mr. Batie begged that there might be no more 
talking, and we finally settled for the night. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE LAST. 

■ Y mistress was certainly a wonderful woman. 

After all she had gone through, she awoke 

as fresh as a daisy, and I believe would have 

even got up if Mistress Curtis would have allowed 
such a thing. I do think the dear old woman was 
almost vexed with her for being so well, after all she 
had gone through. As for the babe, he was a 
famous fellow, as well as a little pig, and squalled so 
lustily when he was christened, that our hostess proph- 
esied great things for his future. ’Tis accounted 
almost a fatal sign there if a babe, and specially a 
boy, does not cry at his baptism. My lady called him 
Peregrine in remembrance of our midnight wander- 
ings, and I was his godmother — a great honor for 
me. I can not, however, claim much of the credit of 
his education. “ Are there any English here now ? ” 
asked Mr. Batie, as we sat at dinner next day. He 
would have us all sit down together, saying that it 
was no time for worldly forms, as indeed it was not. 
“We heard the English congregation was wholly 
broken up.” 

“ It hath been so ! ” answered Monsieur Claude ; 
“ but the pastor resides here still. His name is Win- 
ter ! ” 



The Last. 361 

u Winter ! ” I exclaimed — “ not Arthur Winter 
from Middleburg.” 

“ The same, madam ! ” 

“ Do you know him ? ” asked Mr. Batie. 

“ Know him ! ” said I. “ He married my own 
cousin, and his daughter is our dear adopted child. 
How stupid of me not to remember that it was to 
Wesel they came. It was Arthur Winter that mar- 
ried me.” And I had much ado not to burst out 
weeping. Mr. Batie poured me out a glass of wine, 
which I drank, and restrained myself with a great 
effort. Madam Claude stepped out of the room 
and presently returned with a smelling bottle which 
she had been some time in finding. I suppose it may 
seem strange to some, but I dreaded to see Arthur 
and Katherine. It seemed like a tearing open of the 
unhealed wound, and I felt in the perverseness of 
grief, as if I could bear any thing better than their 
sympathy. There was no use in giving way to such 
feelings, however, and I was nerving myself to ask 
Madam Claude for a guide to their house, when 
the door opened, and I found myself in Katherine’s 
arms — the very same Katherine I had left in Mid- 
dleburg so many years before — a little older, but 
serene and fair as ever. Naturally her first ques- 
tion was for her child. 

“ Katherine is well and in good hands ! ” said I, 
and I told her how I had left her. “ She will be 
safe there if any where ! My lord is king on his 
own domain, and any one coming to molest him would 
go to feed the crabs and codlings within two hours 
afterward.” 

My lady would have me go home to spend the day 


3G2 


Loveday's History . 


with my cousin, and as she really did not need me, I 
was glad to do so, finding after the first was over, 
great comfort in her gentle familiar English ways. 
She told me my uncle was well, as also our other 
friends in Rotterdam and Amsterdam, and that the 
prospects of the Reformed religion grew more and 
more gloomy. New restraints and vexations were 
laid upon the Protestants every day, and it was be- 
lieved they would finally be wholly forbidden the 
exercise of their religion. Garrett had given up busi- 
ness, and they talked of removing to Leyden, but 
nothing was settled when Katherine last heard. 

“ And what will you do ? ” she asked, looking at 
me with her sweet eyes full of pity and kindness. 

“ Whatever my hand shall find ! ” I answered. “I 
have no earthly duty now but to my dear mistress, 
and whither she goes I will go, were it to the ends 
of the earth.” And, indeed, I did travel many a 
rough and weary mile with her ere we saw England 
again. 

My mistress was about again, and we were once 
more established in a neat little house which Mr. 
Batie had hired. The Christmas holidays were 
close at hand, and I dreaded them so much, I would 
have liked to sleep over them. Indeed, holidays be- 
come sad things as one grows older. In case of 
those which the church has always held sacred, 
one can, indeed, find comfort in looking at the great 
truths they commemorate. Mr. Batie had gently 
pointed this out to me, and had bidden me take 
refuge from my sad thoughts in meditations on the 
wonderful mystery of God manifest in the Babe at 
Bethlehem. I tried to do so, and did in some sort 


The Last. 


363 


succeed, though the sad remembrance of our last 
happy Christmas at Coombe Ashton would at times 
sweep all before it in a flood of tears. I was deter- 
mined, however, that I would not be a kill-joy, and 
I threw myself with zeal into all the preparations in 
which these good folks delight. I was helping my 
lady to dress some fine dolls like English ladies for 
the granddaughters of our first host, Monsieur 
Claude, when there was a knock at the street door, 
and presently Mrs. Curtis beckoned my lady out of 
the room. I was surprised, for Mistress Curtis would 
have stood on ceremony in the dungeon of the In- 
quisition. Presently my lady came back to her own 
chamber where we were sitting. 

“ Katherine is below, sweet ! ” said she. I rose to 
go, but she detained me. 

“ She hath brought a guest with her — an English- 
man who has come over with great news.” 

Somehow — I know not how — I saw it all in an in- 
stant. I burst from her detaining grasp, flew down 
the stairs, and the next minute was in my husband’s 
arms. 

Yes, it was Walter himself — thin, gray-headed, 
worn, but yet mine own true love. I would have 
known him any where changed as he was. I asked 
no questions. I was not even surprised to see him. 
There he was and that was enough for me. 

When we had come to ourselves a little, he told us 
his story. He had been left for dead in the crisis of 
the fever, and the turnkey’s wife really believed she 
was telling the truth. When she returned to the 
prison, however, and sought the body to do for it 
some last decent offices, she found that Walter still 


364 


Loveday's History. 


lived, though the life was hardly perceptible. She 
had never forgotten what I had done for their child, 
and taking counsel with my husband, they procured 
a rough coffin, and removing Walter in it as if for 
burial, they took him to a secret nook, where the wo- 
man nursed him, pretending he was a brother of her 
own, who had taken the fever while waiting on the 
prisoners. 

Walter lay long in extreme weakness, and longer 
still before his guardians judged it safe for him to try 
to escape. At last, however, he adventured it, and 
got away in a French vessel, whose master was a 
Huguenot. He had learned of our whereabouts by 
means of that secret intelligence, which, as I have 
said, exists among the reformed all over Europe, and 
after many wanderings and trials, he had made his 
way to Wesel. 

And now it is time for me to bring this story to a 
close. We lived in Wesel some two years. Then, 
Mr. Batie, unwisely as we thought, made another 
move to the dominions of the Palsgrave. However, 
we went with them, for Mistress Curtis had died in the 
meantime, and my mistress depended much upon me. 
Here we lived a while longer, poor enough, for all the 
money and jewels we had brought from home were 
exhausted. Mr. Batie, with all his learning, could 
find little to do, and, indeed, we were hungry more 
than once. In this strait it was my privilege to help 
the lady who had done so much for me. I had al- 
ways kept up my music, and I was fortunate in ob- 
taining pupils on the lute and in singing, enough at 
least to find us bread, and buy clothes for my god- 
son. At the end of another year, a great piece of 


The Last. 


365 


good fortune befell us. Mr. Batie found an old 
schoolmate in a Polish nobleman who was high in 
the favor of Julius, King of Poland. He interested 
the king in his friend’s behalf, and by and by we heard 
that the king had assigned Mr. Batie quite a princely 
domain. We had a hard journey thither, and a hard- 
er time still, or so I thought, in cleaning the old rook- 
ery of a castle, and making it decent for Christians to 
live in. I would like to tell you of our life in that 
far-away land, but this book of mine hath run too long 
already. Be it enough to say, that we lived in great 
peace and comfort till the accession of our present 
gracious queen brought us back to England once 
more. 

When I had seen my dear lady settled in her own 
house, we went down to Coombe-Ashton, taking with 
us one I never thought to see again — Father Austin, 
whom we found absolutely starving in the streets of 
London. The dear old man hath lived with us ever 
since. He will not say out and out that he hath 
abandoned his old religion, but he reads all the Scrip- 
tures, and goes to hear my husband preach. Mr. 
Batie exerted himself to procure the arrears of Father 
Austin’s small pension, which is now paid regularly. 
He is as happy as possible, his only trouble arising 
from the performances of the Jesuits, as the new or- 
der is called. 

Katherine and her husband still live at Wesel. 
Her oldest girl — my adopted daughter — is well mar- 
ried, and lives near us, and I have two boys and a girl 
of mine own. My uncle died full of years, just in 
time to escape the storm of persecution and war 
which Philip of Spain hath let loose on the Nether- 


366 


Lov eddy's History . 


lands. We have heard nothing of Avice and her 
husband for years. 

And now this hand of mine, feeble and wrinkled, 
lays down the pen. I have seen many changes in my 
time, and passed through many sorrows. It is some 
times hard for me to feel that this is the same- 
England, where, when I was young, a man who read 
the Bible in his family, took his life in his hand. 
Truly the Lord hath been bountiful to us beyond all 
our deserts. May we never be so unmindful of His 
favor as to draw down His judgments once more 
upon us. 


THE END OF LOVEDAY’s HISTOKY. 


























































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